A Work of Art Called Life
by Green Spaghetti
Summary: Life is a story, and the good and the bad are what fill the pages. Takeru wants to write his story, but illness may be the greatest enemy he's ever faced. Takaishida fic. Multi-chapter companion piece to "Setting With the Sun."
1. Prologue: His Story

I do not own Digimon.

Hi people! Welcome to my insanity! This story explains the events that lead up to my other story, Setting With the Sun. This means that chronologically, this story comes _first._ Setting With the Sun was posted way before the conception of this story, so you may have read that first, in which case, I apologize: you have been massively spoiled, lol. If you _don't_ want a gigantic spoiler, maybe don't read Setting With the Sun just yet. All the same, hopefully this will be an enjoyable read.

We'll be dealing with some heavy stuff here, including illness and the emotional turmoil that comes with it, so tread carefully.

* * *

" _I remember that day clearly. Maybe too clearly. It was a day that was filled with everything: strength, and weakness. Solitude, and kindness. Discouragement, and hope._

… _The beginning of a story…and the end of one…"_

* * *

 **Prologue: His Story**

He should be rushing. That's what any normal kid would do if they woke up late for school. He should have stuffed a piece of plain toast in his mouth, grabbed his bag, and raced out the door, uniform disheveled and with his neck-tie flapping in the wind.

But Takeru wasn't a normal kid, and today was not a normal day.

By all intents and purposes, it _should_ have been a normal day. It was a Tuesday like any other, and it was an absolutely _characteristic_ spring day in May. He was taking the same route to school that he did every morning, though he usually walked with Miyako and Iori. His friends had had no choice but to go on ahead without him, or risk being late themselves. He wore his same school uniform, green like the trees, and carried his same school bag.

But all the same, it felt different.

Takeru glanced upward to gaze at the morning sky and winced slightly at the brightness of the sun. He was tired. He supposed that most people were tired in the morning, but he considered himself rather an energetic person. Even on rough days, he was never without the capacity to greet the day and be his optimistic (if somewhat troll-ish) self.

But today he just felt, well… _tired._

"C'mon, Takeru," he whispered to himself in a self-directed pep-talk, "Time to rise and shine."

There was no reason for him to be so tired. He'd fallen asleep early, at nearly eight o'clock the evening before, and had overslept this morning. He should be bouncing off the walls and terrorizing people with his cheerfulness.

Instead, Takeru felt like he had foregone sleep altogether, like a cell phone that had been plugged in to charge, yet for some reason _didn't._ School and basketball practice and a meeting with the rest of the Chosen awaited him, but he had no idea how he was going to muster the energy to face it all. What's more, he had a dull headache that was manageable, yet annoying all the same.

 _I could turn around,_ he thought. _I could go home and crawl back into bed and think of a good excuse for Mom later…_

A light breeze, gentle like a butterfly, caressed his face and brought him to his senses.

Takeru shook his head and straightened his shoulders. No. He was fine. Tired, but fine. It was a beautiful morning and there was no reason why it wouldn't be a good day. No bad mood was going to ruin it.

He put on a smile and that was that.

A shopkeeper was sweeping the street in front of his fruit stand as Takeru passed by. The peaches, green apples, and oranges were in stark color-contrast to the deep reds and purples of the berries and plums. It looked like a painting.

"Good morning," Takeru greeted the man, who glanced up from his sweeping to return the sentiment before checking his watch.

"Have you looked at the time, son?" the shopkeeper questioned, eyebrows raised. "I daresay you'll be late for school."

"What?" Takeru checked the time.

Crap. It was later than he thought.

"Gah!" He pocketed his phone and turned back to the man. "Thank you, sir. I really wasn't paying attention. Have a good day."

He made to break into a run when the man suddenly grabbed his arm. In his hand he held an apple.

"I expect you haven't had breakfast?" he correctly assumed. He handed Takeru the fruit with a smile. "Eat this on the way. Quickly now!"

Takeru grinned at the man's generosity and bowed. "Thank you very much, sir."

And he was off.

Putting aside his exhaustion in favor of wanting to get to school _somewhat_ on time, he darted down the street toward school, taking a bite out of the apple. It was juicy and tart and made all the tastier by its nature as a gift.

Things and people blurred past him. Shops and restaurants. Mothers with strollers and men in business suits. Cars and gates and trees and plants and the blue morning sky and the spring air and the world itself.

And in another world, he knew that an orange creature with wings and big blue eyes – his best friend – played and laughed and wanted to see him soon. Almost as badly as Takeru wanted to see _him._

This was his life. This was his story. He didn't know what the next chapter would be, but it was his story nonetheless.

His story…

"I need to write about it," he said randomly to himself, and laughed because he had just spoken that out loud. He had been feeling the writing bug for weeks now, itching and poking at him to grab a pencil and begin his story. School and life told him that he needed to wait, that he had other responsibilities that came first, but the colors and sights and sounds around him inspired him. His love for his friends and family inspired him. There were words in his heart and he needed to write them down.

His life was only beginning, he knew. He had plenty of time to write his story.

But a funny feeling told him that he needed to start now.

…just in case he didn't have as much time as he thought.


	2. Evasion

I do not own Digimon.

Thanks for the support, all! It's appreciated more than you know.

* * *

" _I like to try to hide things. I have for a long time. I don't know why. Or…maybe I do._

 _Maybe it's that I like for everything to be normal. Or at least, for everything to_ seem _normal. If things_ seem _normal, then everyone smiles. Everyone is okay. Everything is good._

 _I want everything to be good for as long as it can. Even if I have to pretend._

 _Even if it's really not."_

* * *

" _C'mon, Takeru! You're almost there!"_

 _That was easy for Patamon to say; he wasn't the one climbing the tree. Takeru hoisted himself onto a branch with a huff. "You know, you could've digivolved into Angemon and given me a hand, here._ Some of us _don't have wings."_

 _The orange Digimon giggled and turned to look out toward the horizon. "What a pretty sunset, Takeru!"_

 _He steadied himself against the tree's trunk and got a look for himself. Orange, red, and the faintest blue haloed a sun that would soon be no more. Yes; it_ was _beautiful. Like everything in the Digital World, even at its most bleak._

" _It's pretty, isn't it, Takeru?" Patamon spoke again, this time looking for affirmation._

 _Takeru reached out to stroke his fur with a fond smile. "It sure is, buddy."_

 _Patamon leaned into his hand for a moment, thoughtful, before turning to look him in the eye. Suddenly, there was urgency in his face._

" _Takeru…" he began, "…don't let it set, okay?"_

"…kaishi."

 _Takeru titled his head slightly in question. "Hm?"_

" _The sun," Patamon reiterated. He moved himself directly into Takeru's line of sight. "Don't let the sun set. Whatever you do, don't let it set, okay?"_

"…Takaishi."

 _Now he was confused. "Don't let it set? Patamon, what are you saying? The sun is going to set, no matter what."_

" _But it can't!" His digimon was visibly shaking. "You don't understand! If the sun sets, everything will end! You'll-"_

" _TAKAISHI!"_

Takeru shot up with a start and narrowly avoided falling right off the bench he was sitting on.

The tree, the sunset, and Patamon were gone. In their place were the old lockers and sweaty benches of his school's locker room.

And his basketball coach, who towered over him with his arms crossed.

"Just what do you think you're doing in here, Takaishi?" Coach interrogated him, glancing at his watch and sighing sharply. "Some of your teammates were saying that you were snoozing in here, but I found it hard to believe, since you're usually one of the first on the court." He shook his head. "I see I was wrong."

Takeru gazed dumbly up at him for a moment before turning away to rub his eyes. Patamon, and that sunset…it was only a dream?

That meant…Takeru let out a tired sigh.

He had fallen asleep. Again. He didn't even manage to change out of his uniform before he dozed off in the locker room.

 _Geez, what's up with me?_

"Look, son," Coach geared up again, "I expect my players to take practice time seriously. If you're too tired to play, then you're done for the day." He looked at Takeru's haggard posture and softened. "Come back tomorrow when you're ready to go, alright kid?"

With that, he turned and left.

Takeru simply sat there, stunned. He had never been kicked out of practice before. And he had never been so tired as to fall asleep slumped against his locker partway through changing his clothes. Even he had to admit that that was pretty bad.

He shoved his gym clothes back into his locker and slammed it shut. He felt like a loser. An _exhausted_ loser.

He exited the locker room and padded down the hall toward the computer lab, brow furrowed in thought. That was the second time he had fallen asleep at school today. The first had been in Nakamura-sensei's class. The man had been droning on about complex numbers and square roots, and Takeru hadn't stood a chance; he dozed off helplessly.

Then out of nowhere, Nakamura-sensei's hand had slammed down on his desk and startled him awake, emitting a surprised squawk from him which had Daisuke laughing so hard that he fell over in his chair and got himself kicked out of class. At least something good had come out of it.

Takeru groaned and rubbed his face with his hands. He couldn't remember ever having this little energy. Even his tiny seven-year-old self, after spending a day running from a rogue Kuwagamon, hadn't been as tired as he is right now.

 _I must be coming down with something,_ he concluded. _Like the flu, maybe._

Did people get the flu in May? He was no doctor. The idea of asking Jou came and went without a second thought. No, he wouldn't say anything for now. No need to worry anyone.

He arrived at the computer room and slid open the door, not knowing who could be inside. Daisuke, he knew, would be at practice ( _like I should be_ , he thought dejectedly) but anyone else could be inside their little private hangout.

Hikari and Iori sat by a window, postures attentive as though they were having a conversation. His entrance into the room seemed to startle them; they both whirled around to see who had come in.

Takeru grinned at them. "You guys weren't talking about _me_ , were you?"

Iori's green eyes darted away while Hikari countered his teasing with teasing of her own: "I guess you'll never know, huh?"

Takeru laughed and lowered himself heavily into a chair. "I'm sure that my Jogress partner will tell me the truth, won't you Iori?"

The boy in question turned to face him with characteristic solemnity. The light-hearted feeling in the room sunk a bit when he did, indeed, tell the truth. "Hikari was telling me that you fell asleep in class today. And that you seemed kind of out of it." It was not an accusation; it was concern.

Takeru couldn't help but smile slightly at Iori's confession. By all standards, he and Iori were like night and day: he was all carefree nonchalance, while Iori seemed to have the weight of the world on his small shoulders. What's more, since becoming Jogress partners, the younger boy had seemed to have taken on the role of attentive younger brother, making it his business to know if something was up with him. Takeru didn't like for him to worry, but it did feel nice, to know someone was paying attention. He wondered if this is how Yamato felt with _him._

When it took him a bit too long to answer, Hikari hesitantly added "You're supposed to be at practice right now, right?"

Takeru laughed again, but this time it was edged with self-deprecation. "Yeah, I'm _supposed_ to be. Except that Coach kicked me out because I fell asleep in the locker room and never even made it onto the court." He leaned an elbow on the table and rested his chin on his hand. "I'm okay, Iori. Just a little tired, that's all. Nothing to worry about." His assuring smile came nearly as a reflex.

"Kicked out?" Hikari asked, surprised. "Can he do that? You've never been kicked out before."

Iori frowned. "He _should_ have asked if you were alright before just kicking you out of practice."

Takeru squirmed in his seat. He _really_ didn't want to talk about it. He wanted to pretend that he felt perfectly fine and that this day of trudging through the halls and dozing off in class had never happened. And he _really_ didn't want to be the center of attention in the conversation. It was a place that he did not enjoy being in.

A subject change was in order.

He smiled and expertly slid into a new conversation. "So do you guys have any idea why Mimi called this meeting today?"

Hikari seemed to sense his discomfort and gracefully accepted the change of subject. "No idea. Usually it's Koushiro or Onii-chan who gets everyone together like this." She gazed down at the floor in thought. "I wonder what it could be about."

"Especially because the Digital World is in peace right now," Iori added. "Koushiro told me so last week."

At that, Takeru stood – ignoring a faint wave of unsteadiness – and walked over to a window. Blue eyes took in the day, still as vibrant and alive as it had been this morning during his mad dash to school. The taste of the gifted green apple lingered on his tongue, and tiredness was forgotten for a moment when a feeling of contentment settled in its place.

"If the Digital World is at peace," he spoke, eyes fixed on the blue sky, "then we have nothing to worry about." He turned back to his friends and grinned. "It'll be good news, I'm sure of it."

Hikari returned his smile, and Iori finally seemed to relax. Takeru was glad.

"Shall we get going?" he proposed to his friends. "If we get there early, we can get good seats."

"Good seats?" Hikari laughed. "What are you talking about? We're meeting at the park. We all just sit in a giant circle."

He laughed again, but this one felt more genuine. "I still want a good seat! And maybe…we'll have time to get ice cream?"

He said it casually, but knew that he was poking at Hikari's weak spot for sweets. The widening of her eyes made it a done deal, and this time, even Iori laughed.

"Who told you that 'ice cream' is the magic word?"

He gestured to himself with a grin. "You forget that words are my specialty."

The three laughed and exited the room, and all thoughts of tiredness and weakness disappeared.

For now.

* * *

"Huh? A group photo?"

The entire group blinked up at Mimi, some with looks of confusion on their faces, and some looking as if they were waiting for her to elaborate. Hikari, herself, was intrigued. The mention of photography had that effect on her; already, she was imagining angles, backdrops, and lighting, even though she didn't know anything about the nature of this photo yet.

Good old reliable Jou, for his part, seemed to have different questions. "Uh, Mimi," he tentatively started, "No offense, but is this really why you called us all together here? For a group picture? I've got a paper due tomorrow and an exam on Friday and three quizzes and-"

"I think what Jou is _trying_ to say," Sora gently inserted, rolling her tennis racket around in her palms, "is that you're going to have to explain, Mimi."

Hikari glanced around at the group. It was obvious that many of them had places to go, or had come from somewhere important before the meeting. Miyako was wearing the clerk's apron from her parent's convenience store. Several of them were dressed in athletic uniforms. Yamato was leaning on his bass guitar case, and Jou had a stack of textbooks on either side of him. It was a busy school day, and they needed to know what this was about.

Mimi stood at the head of the circle, hands on her hips. "I'm _trying_ to explain, if you would all just _listen_." Her sharp eye swept the group, and the murmuring died down. "Good. Now. You all know that our team has gotten a lot bigger, and I think that we should acknowledge that by taking a new group picture. The only one we have is that one in Primary Village from all those years ago. It's super cute, don't get me wrong. But there's _more_ of us now. We should take a new and better picture with every person accounted for! So," she clapped for dramatic effect, "what do you think?"

The thought of a new group picture, now with all twelve of them together, unified and strong, brought a smile to Hikari's face, and she was instantly on board. Responses from the others soon popped up.

"A new group photo, huh?" Taichi pondered out loud, leaning back in the grass and considering the idea. "Doesn't sound too bad. Are we including the digimon in this?"

"Oh, we totally should!" was Miyako's enthusiastic response. Hikari grinned at her friend, who was always willing to support Mimi and her decisions (even when they were a little crazy). "Imagine Hawkmon all dressed up for a photograph! How adorable would that be?"

"Um, so we're dressing up for this?" Ken questioned from his spot in the shade. "I could try to find a bowtie for Wormmon."

Mimi tapped her chin thoughtfully. "Hmm…I hadn't even thought of a dress code…but that might be super fun! Yeah, we should totally try to coordinate something!"

Ideas and opinions came from all directions, and Hikari felt herself growing excited about this prospect. She imagined Tailmon in a frilly dress, frowning with the indignity, and she couldn't help but giggle.

"We could consider formal attire," Koushiro suggested, clicking away at his laptop and looking intently at the screen. Hikari could see from the corner of her eye that he had his fashion software up on the desktop.

"No way am I dressing up!" was Daisuke's response. He sat up and flexed both arms. "I say we all wear something with flames!"

Miyako made a face. "Can you spell 'tacky,' Daisuke?"

"Sure I can! T-A-"

Sora agreed with Miyako, but politely didn't comment. "We _could_ all just wear our school uniforms."

"We could, but not all of us go to the same school," Yamato put in. "We wouldn't all match."

"Do we have to match?" Jou asked, polishing his glasses with the hem of his sweater. "And there are other things we need to take into consideration, like the weather, the climate, the potential for sun burn or heat stroke-"

The opinions flew back and forth, and Hikari began to wonder if a group consensus would even be possible when she heard her brother's hearty laughter.

"C'mon guys, who cares what we wear?" Taichi posed to the group with his goofy smile. His confidence was infectious, for many in the group began to relax. "The important thing is that we'll all be together with our partners for an awesome photo. We could all be wearing polka-dots and crazy hats, and the digimon wouldn't care, heck, they'd probably love it." He laughed at the idea. "I'm sure we could just borrow the hats from Takeru's collection, ain't that right, Teek?"

Hikari turned to grin at her friend, but when she did, the smile slipped from her face.

With all the commotion going on around them, she failed to notice that Takeru had fallen asleep, leaning against a tree. He was curled in on himself, as though he might have been chilly. Which was odd, considering that she herself was getting warm in the sunshine.

She reached out and gently shook his shoulder. "Takeru."

Takeru's eyes blinked open and he promptly sat up as though pretending to have not been caught snoozing. He had to catch himself with one arm before he fell over. "Hm?" he questioned sleepily.

The group had gone quiet, and a blush creeped across Takeru's face when he realized that everyone was looking at him. He let out a hollow laugh. "Sorry, what? I didn't catch that."

"You were sleeping again," Hikari told him, and she saw Iori on his other side seeming to scrutinize his face.

"Takeru, did you hear anything I said?" Mimi asked with a hint of irritation. "About the group photo?"

"Hey, lay off, Meems," Taichi said to her good-naturedly. "It's not like he fell asleep on purpose, right Takeru?"

"Uhh…" Takeru was clearly struggling to find words through his haze of sleepiness and his embarrassment at being put on the spot.

Hikari put on her 'best friend' cape and stepped in. "Sorry, Mimi. He's had a long day and he's exhausted. Right, Takeru?"

The gratefulness was evident on his face. "Uh, yeah. Sorry, Mimi."

The older girl's face softened. "Don't worry about it. If you're _that_ tired, maybe you should go home and take a nap."

"Maybe you should," Iori murmured beside him.

Hikari made to agree, but Takeru straightened himself and spoke before she could. "Really, I'm fine, I'm just-"

"I'll take you home." Yamato casually stood and slung his guitar case over his shoulder. "I've got to head out, anyway. Band rehearsal."

Miyako stood and brushed some grass off her apron. "I've got to go, too."

Several voices conceded their agreement.

"Alright, meeting adjourned, for now," Taichi stood up and stretched before shooting Mimi a thumbs-up. "Cool idea, about the group photo. We'll come up with a time and place later."

Mimi returned it with a thumbs-up of her own. "Can't wait to take the digimon shopping!"

The group began to disperse with a chorus of goodbyes, and Hikari lifted a hand to wave before turning back to Takeru. "Don't worry, I'll fill you in later," she assured him, hoping he'd give her a relieved smile.

But when he did, it seemed…odd.

"Thanks," he said, but it was distracted. Like his mind was working to sort through other thoughts.

Yamato stood by with his hands in his pockets, seeming nonchalant, yet with a tenseness to his posture which indicated he, too, had something on his mind.

Hikari frowned, and when she and Takeru both stood up, she asked him the big question: "Hey…are you okay? Really?"

His answer was more dishonest than even _he_ knew.

"Oh yeah. Never better."

* * *

The city flew by in a noisy blur as the motorized scooter made its way across the bridge. By now, it was late afternoon; the sun was sinking in the sky. The lively people from the morning were replaced by weary students and businessmen in search of rest or an emotion-numbing drink.

Takeru fiddled with the strap of the guitar case that was now slung over his shoulder. It dug into his skin with the weight of the case, and Takeru thought that his brother must be stronger than he looks, to be carrying this thing around all the time.

Yamato, for his part, sat in front of him and steered the scooter in silence. For that, he was grateful. He knew he'd have the hardest time convincing Yamato, of anyone, that he was feeling okay.

He felt like an idiot. An idiot who couldn't even get through a normal school day without falling asleep. _Three times._

It didn't make sense. He felt fine last week. He felt fine this past weekend. Hell, he felt fine _yesterday._ Well, maybe he was a _little_ tired then, but…

They passed by the fruit stand from this morning, still vibrant with nourishing, delectable fruit. The shop-keeper, though, was absent. Perhaps he needed rest, as well.

Takeru shook his head. The day was over. The sun was setting, and everything that had happened today – falling asleep in class, getting kicked out of practice, snoozing during the Chosen's meeting – it was all in the past. He didn't need to dwell on it anymore.

Tomorrow, he would wake up, feeling ten times better, and laugh at the terrible day he had yesterday. He would get dressed, meet his friends, and walk to school, _on time._ He would pay attention in class, play hard in basketball, and involve himself in the plans for the group photo.

He would be awake, alert, and alive, and that's that.

The brothers came to a stop at some traffic when Yamato finally spoke.

"Did that tree make a comfortable pillow?"

Takeru paused at the question before averting his eyes, despite the fact that Yamato wasn't even facing him. "I just dozed off, that's all."

"Mm-hm. What did Hikari mean, that you had a 'long day'?"

Takeru sighed. He really should have seen this coming. This was his Nii-san, after all.

"Exactly that. I'm just tired, Nii-san. That's all."

Yamato didn't respond, seeming to consider the idea. Feeling like he had evaded an interrogation, Takeru took that opportunity to change the subject, and before long, the scooter rolled up in front of his apartment complex.

Takeru dismounted and slipped the guitar case off his shoulder, handing it to his brother. He grabbed his bag from the scooter's small trunk and came back around to Yamato.

"Thanks for the ride," he said with a grin. "Dinner at dad's place on Thursday, right?"

His brother smirked back. "You got it. Dad's been really into American food lately, so…it'll be interesting."

Takeru chuckled. "What, really? Why does he keep getting into these different weird cuisines?"

"Hey, Mom's cuisine is a little weird itself: TV dinners and canned soup."

"Hey, that's _my_ cuisine, too!"

Yamato gave a despairing sigh. "I guess I'm the only normal one in this family."

Takeru bid him good night and made to enter the lobby when Yamato's voice stopped him short. "Hey."

He turned back around. "Yeah?"

Yamato turned his eyes to the ground for a moment before replying. "…you'll be alright by yourself, right? Much as you deny it, I can tell you don't feel well."

Takeru felt his heart sink a bit. He had been so close to escaping undetected.

Would he be alright? Of course. He wasn't _that_ sick, if he was even sick at all. Just tired, and a little dizzy, and a bit off. That's all.

No big deal.

A little mischievous smile crossed his face. His instinct to make a joke of the situation kicked in, and he went with it.

"Of course, Onii-san," he said innocently. "I'll be perfectly fine. I'll just be playing with matches and sharp objects like usual. Nothing to worry about."

Yamato deadpanned for a second before slipping his helmet back on and revving up his scooter. Takeru's smile grew at his brother's annoyance.

Brotherly concern, successfully evaded.

Yamato looked back at him with a dry "Good luck with that," before speeding off.

Takeru watched him until he was out of sight, and then the smile slipped from his face.

Of course he'd be alright.

Why wouldn't he be?


	3. Reality

I do not own Digimon.

Does anyone else see Takeru as a kid with a terrible sense of self-preservation? Lol. Well, maybe you will after this.

* * *

 _"Sometimes I'm good at hiding the truth. Sometimes I'm_ too _good._

 _But other times, well…other times the truth turns around and hits me in the face._

 _And I'm not always good at hiding the bruises."_

* * *

"…keru? Takeru, honey?"

His eyelids are too heavy; it takes _way_ too much effort to peel them open. When he finally does, he sees his mother's face hovering over him, eyebrows furrowed in concern, blond hair still slightly damp with shower water. A towel rests over her shoulder.

It must be morning.

He rubs his eyes with the back of his hand, beginning to sit up, but then reconsidering and laying back down with a groan. His head feels like it weighs a ton, and his sweatshirt is suddenly too hot; his neck is sweaty. His feet, however, are freezing.

The ceiling fan, twirling at an easy pace above him, indicates that he is not in his bedroom. He's in the living room.

 _Did I fall asleep on the couch?_ He questions himself groggily. _Must've crashed while doing homework or something._ He hadn't even changed out of his clothes.

Takeru's eyes fluttered shut against his will.

Yesterday's exhaustion had not released him. He was caught in it, like a noose. The time on the cable box read 7:45, so he must have gotten plenty of sleep. And that doesn't even count the numerous times he had dozed off in the middle of the day yesterday.

There was no good reason, none that he could think of, that he should still be _this_ tired.

 _What's wrong with me?_

A cool hand on his forehead startled him.

" _Mon amour_ ," Natsuko murmurs, "Are you feeling alright?" She presses her palm to his head, stilling as if trying to sense something, and Takeru suddenly thinks that he must be keeping her from getting ready for work. Before he can say so, she frowns. "You're warm. Hang on just a minute."

She heads down the hall, and Takeru takes a moment to feel around for his phone. He swats at the floor near his head, checks his pockets, and glances over at the coffee table before giving up.

Sunlight streams in through the window blinds, telling him that the rest of the world, at least, is awake.

He sighs; he's going to be late. _Again._

His mother returns, thermometer in hand, and it's under his tongue when she says "I had a feeling that something was wrong, with the way that you woke up late yesterday. And you were passed out on the couch when I came in last night. I wasn't sure…"

Takeru tried to remember her coming home after work last night, but found that he couldn't. All he _could_ remember was being dropped off by Yamato, finding it chilly in his apartment, pulling on his sweatshirt, and that was it.

Natsuko took the thermometer and squinted down at it. "Well," she started, "It's a _low_ fever, but it's still a fever. I think that _someone_ is missing school today."

"Really?" he grins fuzzily at her. "Who?"

She smirks at him pointedly. "And here I was hoping my kids _wouldn't_ inherit my sass." She checks her watch. "I've got to head out in a few minutes. Do you think you'll be alright here by yourself?"

Takeru pouted. "I think that Nii-san inherited your worrying. He said the same thing to me last night."

She stood up and laughed lightly. "I guess we both just know you too well." With that, she went off to finish getting ready for work.

Takeru pushed himself up and planted his feet on the floor. His head felt like it was full of cotton, except that cotton would probably feel more comfortable than how he feels right now.

A sick day? Most kids _lived_ for a day to stay home from school and lay around on the couch.

But Takeru had never been a fan of staying home from school. He liked to be where things were happening, and he _hated_ to miss things. He recalls a time when he once nearly drowned in the bay in an effort to get to where the action was, and he was only seven then. Not to mention that he hated to worry his family and friends.

But then again…he _did_ feel kind of sick…

The kitchen floor was shockingly cold when his bare feet made contact with it, and he wrapped his arms around himself. He opened the refrigerator, but found nothing in it that appealed to him. He wasn't hungry in the slightest, he noticed.

Natsuko swept by him, grabbing a piece of toast from out of the toaster and fumbling for her keys with her other hand. She turned to face him.

"Take it easy today, alright, _mon ch_ _é_ _ri_?" she said with earnestness. "Drink some water and make sure you have something to eat. I should have my phone on me for most of the day, if you need me." Her blue eyes softened. "You're sure you'll be okay?"

Takeru felt a pinch of guilt. He _really_ hated worrying his mom. She had enough to worry about without him making it worse.

"Mom!" he said with a painted-on smile. "It's just a little fever! I'm already feeling better, see?" He padded back over to the coffee table and took a seat in front of an open textbook. "I'm even doing homework!" He picked up a pen and mimicked a scribbling motion for added effect.

It worked. The tension evaporated, and Natsuko smiled and shook her head at her son's pep. "Don't work too hard, alright? I'm not above sending Yamato to check up on you, you know."

Takeru gasped and looked affronted as his mom approached him. "That sounds like a threat!"

"More like, a strong encouragement to take care of yourself. How's that?" She cupped his face gently and kissed his head. "Take care, okay honey? I'll be back sometime after dinner."

Takeru smiled. "Have a good day, Mama."

A wave, and she was out the door.

As soon as she was gone, he tossed the pen back onto the coffee table and fell back against the couch with a sigh.

Now what?

This is _another_ reason why he hates staying home from school: he can't stand having nothing to do. And right now, he was facing an entire day with nothing to do but _rest._ He pictured himself sprawled on the couch, watching daytime talk shows, and instantly began looking around for something meaningful to occupy his time.

He _could_ go back to sleep, but he was sick of sleeping, despite how tired he was. He had slept enough yesterday as it is. And there was no way that he was going to do any algebra homework anytime soon. He was feverish, not _hysterical._

Some loose paper on the coffee table caught his eye, and he felt that familiar desire to write stir in his chest.

A smile flashed across his face as gears began to turn in his head. Maybe today he would finally begin to write his story.

A blasting tune came from the direction of the kitchen, and he recognized it as his Knife of Day ringtone.

 _Ah! There's my phone!_ He thought, getting up to swipe it off the kitchen counter.

The name on the caller I.D. had him smirking mischievously, and he answered in his most innocent voice, "Miyako-channn~! Good morning!"

" _Don't 'Miyako-chan' me, bucko!"_ came the aggravated reply. _"You need to get your butt out here before you're late,_ again! _Iori and I are waiting for you!"_

"Ahahaha," he scratched the back of his head awkwardly, wondering how to word this so as to cause minimum worry. "You guys better go on ahead. It…it doesn't look like I'm going to school today."

" _Huh? How come? Are you sick? Is this about what happened yesterday?"_

Takeru laid back down on the couch and frowned. He really wanted to forget all about _yesterday._

"It's not a big deal, I just…I'm gonna stay home today. Hey, no worries though, okay? Seriously, it's really nothing."

He heard Miyako hum through the phone. _"Well…if you say so, Takeru. But you should be aware that Iori is looking at the phone very sternly right now. Which is his way of saying, you'd better take care of yourself today!"_

Takeru felt a chill and curled up on one side. "I think I can feel his stern look from here. Tell him I'll do my best, okay?"

" _Alrighty! Catch you later, Takeru! Feel better!"_

"Bye, guys," he replied, and ended the call, tossing the phone on the coffee table.

He stood up and made his way over to the window, pulling open the blinds and letting bright sunshine fill the apartment. Down on the street, he saw scores of people rushing about, many of them kids like him.

His friends were off to school, like he should be. Soon, they will arrive, greet one another, and put away their things, like he should. Then, they will walk together to class and go about their day. Like he should, instead of laying here on this couch.

Suddenly, Takeru felt like an idiot. A lazy, sluggish idiot. What was wrong with him? He feels a _little_ tired, he has a _little_ fever, and so he cancels his entire day? Is he really the same kid who's helped save the world on numerous occasions? Because right now, he feels more like a kid who would flee in the face of any challenge.

He gazes down at the motion on the street, deep in thought. Patamon wouldn't let anything stop him from having fun. Taichi would be up and out, no matter _how_ high of a fever he had. So would his Nii-san.

And then there's his coach. Coach had every right to kick him out of practice yesterday, and he would have the nerve to not even show up today? And he would miss Nakamura-sensei's class, when yesterday he didn't even bother to stay awake in it?

Takeru turned away from the window and paced the room in agitation. He was better than this. _Stronger._ He was the Child of Hope, for crying out loud! He was _fine,_ and he _would be_ fine.

The blank papers rested on the table, and they helped him make up his mind.

He would have nothing to write if he didn't _live._

He rushed to his room and grabbed his uniform.

He would have to be quick if he didn't want to be late.

* * *

The apple lay whole and untouched in his bag.

Takeru felt guilty. It was generous of the kind old shopkeeper to give him _another_ apple from his stand, but he just couldn't eat it. Not with this strange lack of an appetite.

He'd made it to school. He was late, once again, but he'd made it nonetheless. Although, he was certain that the walk over did him no favors as far as his fever was concerned. He felt that odd sensation of being simultaneously too hot _and_ freezing. His forehead was sweaty, but he had no desire to lose the warmth of his green blazer.

Takeru switched his outdoor shoes for his indoor ones, looking around the shoe lockers for other latecomers. But the place was deserted; everyone else was already in class.

He'd better hurry up, then.

He started up a flight of stairs, gripping the handrail to steady himself. Normally he'd fly up the steps, but today, his legs just felt weak, as though they were carrying more weight than they were able. He felt himself huffing by the time he got to the first landing.

 _I hope Mom doesn't get mad that I came to school,_ He thought to himself. He hadn't even thought of it before leaving the apartment. Although, in all actuality, she probably won't even know. He's always home _long_ before she is.

 _Not that I want to_ lie _to her or anything, but…_

When he finally got to the third floor, he had to stop and lean against the wall to catch his breath. The cold feeling was gone, and now he was just _hot._

His feet touched the floor, and his back was to the wall, but suddenly, Takeru couldn't really feel either. He saw the corridor, and the doors that opened up to classrooms, and he knew that he was _there,_ but he didn't _feel_ like he was.

A numbness settled about him. He took steps down the hall, but didn't feel them. He supposed that he _should_ have heard his footsteps, but he didn't. He was seeing _somebody's_ life through his eyes, but he didn't really feel like it was his.

 _Snap out of it, Takeru,_ he thought, straining to regain control of his body despite the fever and the heat and the numbness. _You've got class, and…practice, and…gotta get it together. Gotta…_

He reached out a clammy hand to grip the sliding door. Hikari and Daisuke, he knew, were inside. He didn't want them to know he didn't feel well. He didn't want them to be concerned. He did his best to straighten his posture, and he put on his Takeru smile before sliding open the door.

Nakamura-sensei was mid-way through a sentence when Takeru made his entrance. He took a couple tentative steps forward, feeling thirty pairs of eyes fall on him.

If he had seen Daisuke's and Hikari's faces, he would have seen their surprised expressions at seeing him, followed by widened eyes at how pale and ragged he looked. Not that he was aware of it himself.

Not that he was aware of much beyond how the room was beginning to sway.

Nakamura-sensei noted his entrance and turned to jot something down in his attendance book. "Late again, are we, Takaishi?"

It took him a moment to register his teacher's words, but when he did, he responded by reflex.

"I'm sorry, Sensei…" he said, bending forward to bow in apology. Or at least, he had meant to.

If he lost his balance and fell forward, he wasn't aware of it. If his friends and his teacher called out his name, he wasn't aware of that either.

He wasn't aware of anything after the floor came up to meet him and he sank into sweet unconsciousness.

* * *

Voices were speaking, and Takeru thought that maybe he knew these voices, but he wasn't sure. He wasn't sure of anything right now.

"-called him this morning, he said-"

"-just stumbled into class-"

"-was kind of off yesterday-"

Takeru tried to make his way through the fog in his brain. He was laying down, that he knew, and his eyes were closed. He must be in bed at home. School must have ended, and he must've gone home.

Except why were people standing around in his bedroom whispering?

"-was nice enough to let us-"

"-just glad that he-"

But his bed feels odd. And his bedroom was echoing in an unusual way.

"-was he thinking?"

"-texted Onii-chan-"

Onii-chan? Hikari had an Onii-chan. And it does sort of sound like Hikari's voice. Hikari was in his room?

"…H-…Hikari?"

The whispering abruptly stopped. A hand came to rest gently on his. "Takeru? Can you hear me?"

The idea of sitting up was quickly dismissed; he had no energy to do so. Instead, he worked to open his eyes.

He was definitely _not_ in his bedroom. His bedroom didn't have rows of beds or curtain dividers. And it certainly wasn't this _big._

He was in the school nurse's office.

The hand that rested on his belonged to Hikari, and Iori stood to her left, looking down at him with a concern that just looked odd on an eleven-year-old's face.

"Hey, c'mon, say something!"

That was Miyako. She stood on his other side, with Daisuke beside her. He looked simultaneously troubled and excited.

Takeru tried to wrap his mind around all this. He was in the nurse's office, laying in a bed, surrounded by his friends? Had something happened? Had he gotten hurt during basketball or something? He didn't feel any pain.

Oh, right. Miyako asked him to say something.

"Uhh…" he slurred when he finally remembered how to move his lips. "…what's up?"

Miyako gawked at him. "What's up?! Did you seriously just ask that?!"

Takeru blinked. Huh?

"Dude, don't you remember?" Daisuke asked next. "You walked into class and totally face-planted!"

 _That_ startled him. "I _what?_ "

Hikari nodded, frowning at him. "You were out cold. A teacher had to carry you down here."

Takeru frowned in return. A pinprick of anxiety stirred in him. "I passed out in class?" It sounded absurd.

Miyako stood up and put her hands on her hips. "What are you even _doing_ here?" she questioned him with disapproval. "You told me this morning that you were staying home because you didn't feel well. Then you showed up anyway! It's no _wonder_ you're burning up with fever!" Her maternal tone reminded him strongly of Sora.

"What were you _thinking_ , Takeru?" Iori finally spoke. He sounded utterly sensible, and _that_ reminded him of Jou.

Takeru threw an arm over his face, covering his eyes from the bright sunlight – and from his friends' gazes. He couldn't answer that, because he couldn't remember just now exactly _why_ he decided that walking to school with a fever might be a good idea. Geez, was his sense of self-preservation really _that_ bad?

Skirting around the question, he responded instead by asking "So how is it that all of you guys are down here with me? Class is going on, right?"

Daisuke sat back in his chair and laced his fingers behind his head. "That crazy Nakamura-sensei let Hikari and I come down here with you to make sure you were cool and stuff." He gave him a thumbs-up. "Thanks for getting me out of math class, by the way."

Takeru felt a smirk pulling at his mouth. "No problem."

Miyako huffed and sat down. "Boys," she muttered under her breath, before explaining "Hikari texted Iori and I and told us what happened. I asked Sensei for a bathroom pass and came down here. He probably thinks I died in the girls' room or something."

Iori looked down at the folded hands that were in his lap. "I just told my Sensei that there was an emergency." Leave it to Iori to tell the actual truth.

Takeru nodded and was still for a moment. What a situation. He tried his best to evade his friends' worry, and instead ended up fainting in class and making everything worse. He had no idea how he would ever face Nakamura-sensei again. And basketball was obviously out of the question now. How would he even get home? Was he going to have to go to a doctor or something?

He quickly decided that he did _not_ want Yamato finding out that he fainted. He'd go berserk.

And his mother…

"Oh my gosh. _Mom,_ " he moaned. She had told him to stay home and rest. And he disobeyed, came to school anyway, and collapsed.

Crap. She was gonna freak.

Takeru turned pleading blue eyes up toward Hikari. "Any chance that we don't have to tell my mom about this?" he said with a hopefulness that did his Crest proud.

Except that it was a lost cause. "…she's on her way now."

Takeru flopped back lifelessly.

Double crap.

"I'm dead," he said miserably. He didn't know which would make him feel worse: her disappointment, or her worry.

The room was quiet for a moment before Miyako spoke. "But seriously, Takeru…why did you come to school if you were sick?"

He pondered that and would've felt his face grow hot with embarrassment if he wasn't already hot with fever. "…I thought I was okay."

Hikari gave him an indecipherable expression.

"…but you're not okay, are you?"

And his pathetic state gave him away, no matter how much he wanted to deny it. He couldn't pretend anymore.

"…no…I guess I'm not."

* * *

His mother held open the door as she and Takeru left the clinic.

He had insisted that he didn't need a doctor; he just needed to go home and rest, nothing more. He felt guilty for making her leave work, and even _more_ guilty that he had caused this whole mess in the first place.

But Natsuko wouldn't hear of it. She drove them out of the school parking lot and toward the direction of the clinic with no room for argument. "If you think that I'm going to just ignore that you _fainted_ at school…" she said, and then proceeded to mutter in French about stubborn boys and something that sounded suspiciously like "You get that from your father."

The flu. That's what the doctor had said. He had looked him over briefly and said with certainty that he must have the flu. Then he wrote out a prescription for an antibiotic and said off-handedly "Try to behave more responsibly in the future, Mr. Takaishi."

As if he didn't already feel low enough.

Natsuko had a steadying arm around his shoulders as they walked back to the car, and Takeru hung his feverish head in shame. "…I'm really sorry, Mom. I didn't mean to cause so much trouble."

Natsuko sighed and gave his shoulders a little squeeze. "It was certainly a foolish thing to do, but I'm not angry, _mon ch_ _é_ _ri_ ," she said softly. She stroked some of his blond hair out of his eyes, directing them to look at her face. She smiled slightly. "Maybe next time you'll listen to your mom when she tells you to take it easy?" She said it teasingly.

He relaxed at her easygoing tone and smiled. "Promise."

She smiled back and squeezed him again. "Good. Now let's get your medicine and get you home."

She helped him climb into the front seat when his phone started to ring. He fished it out of his bag and went pale when he saw the caller I.D.

Yamato.

He gulped and turned to his mom in the driver's seat. "It's Onii-san."

Natsuko smirked and turned the key. "Good luck."

Takeru took a breath before answering in a too-casual tone, "H-hey Nii-san. What's up?"

"' _Just tired,' huh?"_

Takeru sighed and thought back to his worried, concerned, _traitorous_ friends. "Who told you?"

His brother scoffed through the phone. _"What, you don't think my brother's intuition told me that you were sick?"_

He rolled his eyes. "O _nii_ -san!"

" _Okay, okay, okay…Hikari told Taichi, who told Koushiro, who told Jou, who told Mimi, who told Sora, who finally asked if anyone had bothered to tell_ me. _"_

Takeru couldn't help but laugh at that. He knew his brother hated to be the last to know things. "Glad I could make everyone's day so interesting."

" _Yeah, yeah, just don't make a habit of it. Look, I'm coming by after school. Do you prefer pills or liquid medicine?"_

Takeru leaned against the window, feeling the cool glass on his hot forehead. Here it comes: Nurse Nii-san.

"No need to pick up any medicine," he assured his brother. "The doctor gave me a prescription."

" _Doctor? What did the doctor say?"_

He looked over at the time on the car radio: 11:28, the middle of the school day.

"Nii-san, are you on the phone in class right now?"

" _I got excused, I'm outside right now. It's not every day that my little brother_ collapses _in class, you know. Now, what did the doctor say, Keru?"_ he said with an aggravation that squashed Takeru's hopes that maybe, just maybe, his brother wasn't freaking out.

Takeru sighed. Time to be the reassuring younger brother.

"He says I have the flu. But _don't worry_ ," he added quickly, before Yamato had the chance to _truly_ freak out. "We're picking up my prescription and heading home so that Mom can suffocate me in blankets and force-feed me soup. Isn't that right, Mom?"

"You got it!" she replied, with _way_ too much enthusiasm.

"And besides, Nii-san," he continued, "you don't have time to come over today. I happen to know that after school you have a session in the recording studio to get to. Isn't that right?"

There was silence over the line. _"…I could reschedule."_

Takeru's eyes softened. _Of course_ he'd want to drop everything and hover over him while he was sick. This was Yamato, after all. But he didn't want to be any more of a nuisance then he was already being.

"No. Go to your session," he said with conviction, and then added more gently "You can swing by tomorrow, if you want, when you have more time. I'm sure I'll just be laying around then, like I'll be laying around today. No need to rush. And these recording sessions are hard to book. Isn't that what you said last week?"

Yamato was silent again, seeming to be trying to make a decision. Finally, he said _"…alright, kid. I'll come tomorrow. But only if you promise me that you won't get any sicker."_

Takeru gazed out the window at the blue sky. The sun sat high, peeking out from behind a skyscraper. It almost looked like a replica of his Crest of Hope, and he suddenly felt as though everything would be fine, flu or no.

He smiled.

"I promise."

He didn't know that it was a promise he had no right to make.


	4. Dreams

I do not own Digimon.

Thanks for reading, people. You guys are cool.

* * *

" _I love dreams. Dreams and wishes and hopes. Reality is nice, in small doses, but I could easily be content to live in a dream that never ends._

' _But what about your life?' you might ask me. 'What about your future?'_

 _But could any life, any future, be as nice as a dream?"_

* * *

"What the hell kind of flu is this?" Yamato muttered, arms crossed over his chest as he leaned back against the kitchen counter. "Jou said that most flus only last a week, maybe two. But _three?_ "

Natsuko's hands cradled her coffee mug, and she stared into the cup absently. "Three weeks of school, he's already missed. I can tell it's stressing him out, thinking of all that he'll have to do just to catch up."

Yamato nodded slowly and frowned. Takeru was a pretty good student. Missing _this_ much school must not be easy on him.

He felt his frown deepen. The fevers, the chills, the dizziness… _none_ of it was easy on Takeru.

His eyes fell on his little brother, asleep in the living room as he usually was these days. His first week of flu-induced rest had been spent in bed, inside his bedroom, but by the end of the week, he was complaining of feeling trapped and isolated inside the small room. It was dark in there, he said, and he missed the sunlight.

They had decided to lay out a bedroll on the living room floor for the remainder of his illness, to give him more space and more light, and he gratefully accepted. He said it made him feel like he was where the action was, though Yamato didn't know exactly what action took place in a tiny Japanese apartment. Especially when one was home alone all day.

 _Of course,_ Yamato thought, eyes on Takeru as he lay curled up in the blankets, _We didn't expect him to still be there two weeks later._

It was the end of June now, and students were only weeks away from their summer break. Most kids tend to buzz with excitement around this time; his friends certainly were. Sora and Mimi were planning a group trip to the ocean, and he had overheard Taichi and Koushiro discussing the annual August 1st camping trip. His band, as well, was organizing a few major summertime gigs. Yamato had an eventful summer to look forward to, that's for sure.

Takeru would too, he knew. As soon as he was feeling better, he could catch up on his schoolwork and start to make fun plans, like everybody else.

 _But when is he gonna feel better?_ That was the big question.

His musing was interrupted by Natsuko, who quietly got up from the table to pour the rest of her cold coffee down the sink. She would be leaving for work soon, he knew. Even on Saturdays, like today, she left in the morning and came home after dark. It was a routine that she and Takeru were used to, but it left her and Yamato both feeling anxious about leaving Takeru home alone all day, being sick and all. It wouldn't be for much longer – Takeru had to get better _sometime_ – but all the same, it was a source of distraction for him at school, and no doubt for her at the office.

His mother's voice broke the silence. "I called Dr. Tozawa yesterday," she whispered, drying the coffee mug and placing it on the rack. "He said we should give it one more week before going back to see him." The expression on her face was one of an agitation that had once been flaring and sharp, but had been dealt with enough to simmer down to simple annoyance. It was clear that she was working hard to keep up a calm and collected front.

Yamato, however, wasn't there yet. "What kind of crackpot doctor would be okay with a perfectly healthy kid being laid up with the flu for a _month_?"

Natsuko blew out a breath, rubbing a hand down her face. "I don't know, dear," she said, and her voice held a tinge of helplessness. "But I don't have a degree in medicine, so I can't exactly argue."

She turned to head down the hall, and Yamato followed. He had come early because he wanted to talk to her. Although…he was suddenly hesitant about what he wanted to say. He was always hesitant to mention his father around his mother.

He leaned against the wall outside the bathroom door while his mother readied herself for work. His eyes stared up at the ceiling, and he was glad that he didn't have to make eye-contact when he said, "Dad thinks that you should take him to a different doctor. You know…to get a second opinion."

His father had worded it a little more roughly than he had just now, and with a few more expletives, but that was the gist of it.

He heard the sound of a make-up brush clattering onto the bathroom counter, and then a tense silence followed.

He was glad, again, to be _outside_ the room.

He heard her foot tapping quickly, agitatedly, on the tile floor, and he's sure it took self-restraint for her to calmly reply "I would hardly call your father an _expert_ , considering the fact that he's seen Takeru a grand total of _twice_ since he's gotten sick."

Yamato couldn't help the natural inclination to defend his father against his mother. He figured he would for the rest of his life.

"He feels guilty about that, alright?" he rebutted, noticing the snappishness in his voice and working to tone it down. "He never gets a day off and has no time to himself. He wishes to hell that he could be here for Takeru, but work is work."

"Oh, _yes_ ," came Natsuko's reply, finally betraying her irritation. "Work is work. It always _has_ _been_ with him. Don't I know it better than anyone."

He was used to hearing her antagonism toward his father, and he knew that's what he was hearing now. But it almost seemed directed toward _him_ , as well, and that was new. He suddenly wished that she would hurry up and leave the apartment so that he didn't have to face her anymore today.

He heard her sigh heavily, and she came up to stand beside him and said "Oh…I'm sorry, _mon ch_ _é_ _ri_." He wondered what expression might be on her face, but wouldn't look at her to find out. "I'm just…I'm just at my wit's end. I didn't mean to get upset with you."

Yamato kept his eyes fixed on a spot in front of him. "Whatever. I just want Takeru better, that's all." And it was the truth.

Natsuko's voice took on a soft quality when she said "Of _course_ you do." She even laughed lightly. "After all, this is the same person who, as a little four-year-old, wouldn't let me do _anything_ with his baby brother without his strict permission."

He turned bright red despite himself and whipped around to face her. "I did _not!_ "

Now she laughed genuinely. "You did _so!_ Ask your father, if you don't believe me. It was _precious_." She had the audacity to reach up and ruffle his hair, and he dug his hands deep into his pockets, face on fire.

"J-just don't tell Takeru, alright? He'll never let me live it down."

She winked at him, the tension gone. "Your secret is safe with me."

* * *

Takeru did not enjoy being sick. In fact, he hated it. A lot.

For three weeks he has languished in bed under an avalanche of blankets, alternating between feverish and _less_ feverish, but still _feverish._ He sips broth and takes medicine that does nothing. And he sleeps.

He watches his mother come and go, and watches Yamato come and go, and his father a couple times, and his friends, when they come to visit. But all the while, he just lays there, watching and not _doing._ That might be the worst of all, even worse than the dizziness and the nausea and the chills: the inactivity.

He knows that it won't last forever; he's bound to get better _sometime._

But when?

He knows it's Saturday only because Yamato is here early; the days all blend together, when you just lay and sleep. He knows it's the twenty-fifth of June only because he has a cell phone.

He knows he's been sick for three weeks only because his mother told him so, while she had been cooling his face with a damp cloth. He had no choice but to believe her, even though those three weeks had felt more like three years.

 _Man. This is some flu._

Daylight permeated the apartment as Takeru sat on his bedroll, draped by two blankets and a quilt. In front of him lay his notebook, pen resting loyally nearby. A streak of sunshine ran across the page, illuminating his words and making them seem to glow.

" _I remember that day clearly. Maybe too clearly. It was a day that was filled with everything…"_

This, perhaps, made it all worth it. This sudden, prolonged flu had _finally_ given him an excuse to stop what he was doing and start writing his story. Between naps and bouts of medicine-induced grogginess, he would pull out his notebook and _write._ He did not write much, of course; he simply didn't have the energy. But still.

There were _words_ on the page, and _he_ had written them, and that fact made him so, so happy.

The only thing he wasn't sure about was the title. "A Work of Art Called Life"? Honestly, he thought it sounded kind of cheesy. He supposed he could always change it later.

"Damn onions," he heard his brother mutter from the kitchen, punctuating the sound of a knife repeatedly clicking against the cutting board.

Takeru turned to eye him and grinned. When his Nii-san was here (which was often), he liked to try to cook him substantial meals, despite the fact that he had little appetite and wasn't up to eating much these days. As good of a cook as his brother was, he often caught Yamato arguing with the food he was cooking. "Boil, damn it!" was last night's battle cry as he worked with noodles. It would have been just as natural rolling off of Taichi's tongue.

(In his honest opinion, he thought that Taichi and Yamato were more similar than they let on. Not that he was stupid enough to _ever_ say that out loud. Gosh.)

Takeru let the blankets fall from his shoulders and had to adjust to the loss of warmth. He was cold, even though he was wearing a sweatshirt, and even though it was June.

He was beginning to go crazy. He wanted desperately to get up. To move. To walk. To go somewhere. _Anywhere._ He'd go to Pinocchimon's playhouse, if it meant getting out of the apartment.

…okay, maybe that was pushing it.

He brought himself to his feet, took a moment to steady himself, and padded carefully over the blankets that were strewn across the living room floor.

Yamato was sautéing something in a frying pan and didn't sense him approach. He took a seat at the kitchen table and made his presence known. "Onii-san?"

Yamato turned at the address, eyebrows raised at seeing him up and about.

Had it really been that long since he was well?

"What are you doing up?" his brother questioned, scrutinizing him for a second before turning back to the food. "Go lay back down. Do you need some water? Lunch is almost ready, if you're up for it."

Takeru knew this was a long-shot, but he had to ask, for his sanity's sake.

"Onii-san…can we go outside today?"

"No."

Takeru balked at that. "Well _that_ was quick!"

Yamato shot him a look that was not at all amused. "It was a dumb question."

He pouted at him. "It was _not_. Nii-san, please? I haven't been outside in _forever_."

His brother put down the chopsticks he was using to stir with and put a hand on his hip. "Takeru, you _do_ remember that I'm your, quote unquote, 'overprotective' older brother, yes? Do you really think I would take you outdoors while you have the flu?"

Takeru looked back at him dryly. "There's no 'quote unquote' about it, Nii-san. You _are_ overprotective." Maybe it was time to take a different approach. He put on a smile. "I don't feel as dizzy today! And Mom said that my fever's not as high. Don't you think that some fresh air might make me feel better?"

"If I recall," Yamato began, now back to his cooking, "It was 'fresh air' that got you so sick in the first place. You might not remember that, since you were _unconscious_ and all."

Takeru deflated a little. This was going nowhere. If he was going to get what he wanted, he was gonna have to pull out the big guns.

Little brother charm, initiate.

"Please, Onii-chan?" he said pitifully, hunching over to make himself seem as little as possible. "Please, please, please?"

Yamato deadpanned. "Are you serious right now?"

"Please?"

"No."

"Please?"

" _Takeru._ "

"Please?"

"Gahhh!" he moaned and tossed down his chopsticks, massaging his temples. His resolve, Takeru was pleased to see, was breaking.

He smiled a little. Works every time.

Yamato exhaled sharply, eyed him for a moment, and pulled out a chair to take a seat beside him.

Before Takeru could say a word, his brother's hand was on his forehead, feeling his temperature, and he could only hope that his mother was right when she said that it had gone down.

Yamato was frowning severely, but his assessment was positive: "Well…you _do_ feel cooler than you did when I left last night."

"So we can go?" he answered, unable to keep the desperation from his voice.

His brother planted one elbow on the table and rested his chin in his hand, seeming to mull it over in his head. Agonizing seconds passed, and Takeru felt like his brother was deciding his fate, instead of just how he would spend his afternoon.

He _really_ needed to get out.

Finally, Yamato let out a sigh and turned to look him in the eye. "…alright," he conceded, and was met by a bright smile from Takeru. " _But_ -" he held up a hand to cut Takeru off before he could begin speaking, "We're going down to the park a block up the street, and no further. When we get there, we're gonna find a bench and rest. And if you start to feel sick at any point in time, we're turning around and heading home. Got it?"

Takeru laughed heartily and agreed to his demands. "I don't care _what_ they say, Onii-san," he said as he got up from his seat. "You _are_ nice!"

Now it was Yamato's turn to balk. "Who says I'm not nice?!" he shouted after him as he made his way to his bedroom. "I have the Crest of Friendship, you know! That's the _nicest_ one!"

Takeru's laughter filled the apartment for the first time in weeks.

* * *

 _I feel like a vampire,_ Takeru thought, taking tentative footsteps into the sunlight. _I probably_ look _like one, too._

He had to squint and cover his eyes from the sun; it was _bright_ , after having been cooped up inside for so long. He was pale with illness, as well, and bundled up in warm clothing despite the early summer weather. He certainly didn't blend in with anyone on the street.

Yamato immediately asked him if he needed to go back inside, to which he gave a decided "I'm fine." No way was he going to turn back now; not after he was finally free.

Despite the tear-inducing sunshine, it was a gorgeous day, as most of them were this time of year. Everything was positively _alive_. The trees could not be greener, and the people were excited for the summer and seemed to travel around the city with renewed vigor.

 _It was a beautiful day like this,_ he recalled, _the day I got sick._

Funny how the world seemed to come alive as his health withered.

 _But not for that much longer. I'll be healthy soon._

 _Soon._

"Should've grabbed you some sunglasses," Yamato said, shielding his own eyes with one hand and craning his neck to look up at the sky. "I hadn't even thought of it."

Takeru shook his head and hoped his smile was reassuring. "Don't worry about it. I'll get used to it in like, a minute."

The walk would not be long, he knew; that had been Yamato's stipulation for coming outside. In fact, he could already see their destination from here, and they hadn't even left the apartment property yet.

But he didn't care. Walking, being outside, being with somebody…it felt great. _He_ felt great. Sure, he had a headache, and his stomach felt kind of weird, but he was up and back out in the world. That's all he had asked for.

He felt himself turning this way and that to look at things, like a tourist in a new city. It's funny how interesting buildings and plants and people are when you've been staring at a ceiling for three weeks.

His brother, he knew, wasn't interested in the sights and sounds that surrounded them. He had his eyes cast forward as they walked, but he knew that Yamato was watching him from his peripheral vision. He kept a hand on his shoulder like he was ready to spring into action, should anything happen.

Takeru supposed he couldn't really blame him; his physical strength _had_ been a little unpredictable as of late. The fact that they were outside at all was a miracle, really.

Something up ahead caught his eye.

He smiled, cupped his hand around his mouth, and shouted "Shopkeeper-san!" His shout startled Yamato, who jumped slightly beside him.

The old shopkeeper was sweeping in front of his stand, as he always was when Takeru came by. He probably wasn't expecting someone to call out to him, for he jumped as well and swiveled to find the source of the yell.

When he saw Takeru, he relaxed and even smiled a bit. "Well, long time no see, my young friend."

Yamato eyed the man inquisitively and turned to look at his brother. "You know this guy, Keru?" he asked just loudly enough for the two of them to hear.

Takeru nodded. "Mm-hm! Shopkeeper-san gives me apples sometimes, when I'm running late and I skip breakfast. He's really generous."

His brother hummed in response.

The two approached the old man, who leaned his broom against a stand and turned to greet the two boys.

"You must be a relative," the old man said to Yamato, though he had to crane his neck quite a bit to look Yamato in the eye. "It's not often you see blond hair like that around here. You two share quite a resemblance."

Takeru beamed at the man and gave the affirmative. "This is my older brother, Ishida Yamato." Now that he thought of it, had he ever given the man _his_ name?

Yamato looked at the shopkeeper for a moment and then bowed. "Thank you for your kindness toward my brother," he said with sincere politeness. It wasn't the first time that Takeru had to laugh at the stark contrast in their mannerisms, but he supposed it all had to do with their family situation. While Yamato had been heavily influenced by their father's traditional sense of Japanese etiquette, Takeru was more used to the casual Western mentality of his mother.

They were an odd set of brothers, to be sure.

The shopkeeper held up a hand. "Ah, no need for thanks," he said, his eyes crinkling at the corners in a friendly smile. He turned his gaze to Takeru. "You don't know how many people walk right past me without saying a word. _This_ young man is good enough to offer an old man a simple 'good morning.'" A touch of sadness passed his weathered face. "It means more than you know."

Takeru felt a blush creep across his face that only deepened when he heard his brother say fondly "Yeah, that sounds like my brother." His hand came back up to rest on his shoulder.

The man nodded and reached back for his broom before raising an eyebrow at him. "Now, where have you been lately, young man?" he said with curiosity as he resumed his sweeping. "I haven't seen you in quite a while."

"Oh! Uh…" Takeru reached up to scratch the back of his neck. "I've just been a little sick lately."

" _A lot_ sick," Yamato corrected, eyeing him pointedly. "Sick enough to miss three weeks of classes."

Shopkeeper-san frowned at that and seemed to inspect his face. "Ah…yes, you _do_ look ill, I daresay. I wonder…"

He put his broom down again and signaled for the brothers to wait before disappearing into his shop.

Yamato looked at Takeru questioningly, eyebrow raised, but Takeru could only shrug. "Don't look at me!"

The old man emerged from among the rows of produce with a mesh sack in his hand. The sack was bulging with apples of all colors and varieties, tart greens, juicy reds, and sweet yellows all living in harmony together.

Before Yamato could speak, the sack was shoved into his arms and the old man was saying "There we go! You'll need some nutritious food, if you want to regain your strength." He winked at Takeru. "On the house."

Yamato seemed to flounder for a response before saying "Uh, Shopkeeper-san, this is nice and all, but…it's too much. We can't accept it."

Takeru had to agree. As used to receiving these apples as he was, this _was_ an extravagant gift. "That's… _really_ generous of you, Shopkeeper-san, but-"

The man held up a placating hand. "Now now, boys," he said, "If you think it's a nice gift, then you should take it, yes?" Once again he turned to grab his broom, but this time when he turned back, he looked Yamato in the eye. "I'm very fond of this young man, and I want to do what I can to help him get well again. Wouldn't you do the same, if you could?"

Takeru glanced up at his brother's face. He could practically _feel_ the man's words get at Yamato's core. His brother gripped the sack of fruit with both arms, seeming to deliberate in his head.

Takeru suspected that his Nii-san may have found his new preferred place to buy his produce.

He dipped into a bow once more, and his answer was clear: "Thank you, Shopkeeper-san. We'll _both_ enjoy them."

* * *

"Onii-san…what are your dreams?"

"Hm?" his brother grunted in reply. He was reclining in the grass beside him, arms reaching up to pillow the back of his head, eyes closed, relaxing in the sunshine.

Except now, one blue eye had popped open to look at him curiously.

Takeru sat in the grass with his legs folded underneath him, one hand toying unthinkingly with some stray blades of grass, wondering how he was going to elaborate on his question.

The sack of apples lay in the grass beside them.

He reached up to fiddle with the collar of his sweatshirt. He was beginning to feel the hot-cold sensation of feverishness, but decided not to burden his brother with it.

"What I mean is…" he started again, slowly, thoughtfully, "…what do you dream of? For your life?"

Yamato looked at him for a second and then closed his eyes again. "You mean like a career?"

Takeru paused at that. He was kind of thinking on a more abstract level, but in all honesty, he really wasn't sure of what he was asking.

"Um…I guess so, yeah. Just, like…the future."

His brother didn't respond at first, and for a moment, Takeru wasn't sure if he would. You never quite know with Yamato which topics might be sensitive ones for him.

Then suddenly, he sat up and rested his elbows on his knees. He turned to him with an indecipherable look and said "You first."

It wasn't the answer he was expecting, but he supposed that it should have been. Yamato had always preferred to pick Takeru's brain, rather than allow Takeru to pick his.

Not that it ever stopped Takeru from trying.

Now it was Takeru's turn to lay back in the grass and close _his_ eyes. He often found laying in the grass to be an oddly inspiring practice; there, he tended to do his best creative thinking. He thought he'd give it a try now.

What did he want for his future? He was only thirteen; the future seemed like an imaginary thing to him. His Nii-san was at the point in his life when he had to start actively planning for his future, as most seventeen-year-olds tended to do.

Hikari had mentioned it to him once that Taichi was having a difficult time making plans for the future, and Takeru was beginning to think that he will find himself in a similar rut when he is their age. He had never been one for concrete goals; just wistful dreams. Wistful dreams and writing.

Writing…

"Nii-san…" he began, almost afraid to say this out loud, but feeling compelled to do so anyway. "…if I became a writer…do you think anyone would read my work?"

Yamato tilted his head slightly at him. "A writer? You mean like…a journalist?"

Takeru thought of his parents' work; his father, covering stories of traffic accidents and city events. His mother, writing articles about economic trends and sustainable living. Both work hard and produce quality content for the viewing or reading pleasure of thousands of people.

But they wrote what others _wanted_ them to write, and that was something that Takeru wasn't sure he could handle.

He had a vision in his head, and words on his lips, and _that_ was what he wanted to write.

"…no, not like a journalist. Like…a storyteller."

"Ah," his brother replied, an inflection of understanding in his voice. "Like a novelist."

Takeru nodded slowly, not daring to look at his brother's face for fear of seeing a skeptical look there. Saying it out loud – 'a novelist' – made it seem like a crazy, unrealistic dream. Like something you dream about when you're young that never comes true when you're older.

"…do you think it's stupid, Nii-san?" he asked, dreading the answer yet knowing he needed to hear the truth. His Nii-san had once had the fanciful dream of becoming a rockstar, and _that_ dream had come true, sure. But his Nii-san was talented. Skilled. Gifted.

Takeru was just…Takeru.

He didn't see the look of pride that crossed Yamato's face, but it was real all the same. There was an unwavering quality to his voice when he said "If you became a writer…I would read _every single_ word you wrote."

By reflex, Takeru looked up at his brother, trying to find deceit in his face and instead seeing a small smile. It made him smile, too. "No you wouldn't."

"I would."

That made his smile evolve into a laugh, and he suddenly felt a sensation of possibility, of _hope_ , blossom in his chest.

He'd have to make his dream come true, then. That was all there is to it.

He sat back up and turned toward his brother. "Now c'mon," he said, leaning forward with eagerness. "You have to give me an answer, too."

Yamato raised an eyebrow. "I _have_ to?"

"Yes. You _have_ to."

Yamato smirked at his insistence and cast his eyes up toward the sky. There was a beat of silence before he spoke.

"I want to do something…out of the ordinary."

Takeru watched him, seeing a strange wishful look on his typically carefully-controlled face, and waited for him to go on. When he did not, he turned his own eyes up to gaze at the object of his brother's attention.

The sky was wide, endless, and blue, like his eyes. Like Yamato's.

Something out of the ordinary? Takeru didn't want to laugh at his brother's wish, but found it a challenge not to. He didn't think for a second that Yamato would ever have to _work_ to be 'out of the ordinary.' It came naturally to him, the ability to stand out and be different, and Takeru had no idea how he couldn't see it for himself.

Takeru had seen it his whole life.

"Out of the ordinary?" he asked, a lilting laugh in his voice. "You mean like, go to space?"

His brother scoffed at that. "Very funny," he muttered, not taking his eyes off the great blue expanse above them.

But Takeru swore that he saw gears turning in his brother's head, and he could only wonder what was going through that limitless mind.

He couldn't wait to see it for himself one day.


	5. Burden

I do not own Digimon.

Ugh. Sorry for the wait. Though to be fair, this chapter is massive and could eat all the other ones for breakfast.

Thanks for the reviews/follows/favorites.

* * *

" _Sometimes I'm not sure who I am._

 _I know what I once was. I know what I want to be. And I think I know what I am now. But none of them are the same. Can they all really describe the same person?_

 _Which one is the real me?"_

* * *

"Okay, all I'm saying is that it's _completely_ unfair. We get a month of summer vacation, sure, but American kids get _two._ Where's the justice in that? I say we should sue!"

Yamato didn't even dignify the statement with a look. He strode coolly forward, hands in the pockets of his uniform blazer. "And who do you plan on suing, Taichi? Japan or America?"

Sora smirked and turned to glance at their fearless leader. Taichi was attempting to balance a soccer ball on his head while they traversed down the street. He had an unfair advantage in that his hair, as untameable now as it was the day she met him, seemed to cradle the ball like a bird's nest. Daisuke often despaired that he was unable to perform the feat as well as his senpai, but in Sora's opinion, Taichi was technically cheating.

The Chosen of Courage thrust a fist into the air. "Who cares! All I have to do is bring Greymon into the courtroom, and I'll get anything I want!" His jerky motions caused the ball to topple from his head, and he had to scramble to catch it before it rolled into the street.

Sora shook her head, one hand loosely gripping her bag's strap. "What a diplomat you are, Taichi."

It was mid-afternoon, September, and the three were strolling down the city street after school. The beginning of the school year was always a tiring affair, what with new classes and new instructors and the overall sense of 'Wow, I'd really rather be in bed' that most students tended to experience when the freedom of summer vacation was gone. Sora loved the summer, of course, but she didn't mind the return to the structure of the school year. It was good, she believed, to stay active. Taichi, obviously, didn't agree.

And Yamato, well…he had bigger things to worry about.

"Oh, that reminds me," Taichi suddenly said, as they made their way through a crosswalk. He turned his eyes to Yamato with some hesitation, clearly about to mention something he'd rather not. "…Hikari said that, uh, her sensei was asking if Takeru is ready for anymore schoolwork, or if they should, you know, hold off for now. I told her I'd ask you."

Hikari had been tasked with delivering assignments to the Takaishi apartment, since Takeru was still too ill to attend school. She did it gladly, sometimes bringing along a snack or a novel to cheer him up. She believed it was the least she could do.

Sora watched Yamato's countenance darken considerably. She braced herself for a not-so-pleasant reply.

"No, he's _not_ ready for more schoolwork," the blond replied tensely, glaring at the ground in front of him like it had said something personally offensive. "He can hardly finish what he has now, seeing as he can only sit at the kitchen table for a half-hour tops before tiring himself out." A pebble lay in his path, and he kicked it aggressively out of the way. "These damn teachers don't seem to understand that he's _ill._ He should be _resting,_ not _studying_."

Sora turned away, tactfully saying nothing, while Taichi just said "Alright, I hear you, man. I'll pass it along."

While the three friends passed by a produce stand (Yamato had some weird interest in this stand, for he paused briefly to peek around inside, as though looking for someone), Sora's thoughts wandered to Takeru. She couldn't wrap her mind around it. Four months ago, he had been perfectly normal: lively, energetic, _healthy._ He attended soccer games and concerts with his friends, occasionally went on outrageous shopping trips with Mimi, and oozed his natural, effortless optimism. He had even mentioned once wanting to learn the basics of tennis from her. He had been doing well. _Quite_ well.

Then, he collapsed in school one day, and everything changed. A doctor, all those months ago, had diagnosed him with the flu, but it was obvious to everyone that this was no flu. No flu, at least none that Sora had ever seen, could suck the life out a perfectly healthy kid the way that this one seemed to.

No, something else was wrong with her friend. Something…something worse.

"…any word on the test results, yet?" she asked gently, wondering if she was intruding but wanting to know the answer very badly. Taichi perked up, obviously wondering the same thing.

Yamato sighed in a tired way that did not suit a seventeen-year-old at all. "Uh…the blood test came back negative. Same with the x-rays. Still waiting on the MRI." She hadn't noticed before how tired he looked. "They still don't know what's making him so exhausted, or dizzy, or weak, aside from the fact that he's not eating much." He lifted a hand to shield his eyes from the sun, and there was bitterness in his voice when he added "It's a nasty fricking illness, that's all we know right now."

"Poor kiddo," Taichi murmured quietly, distantly. Sora knew that he would understand Yamato's concern more than anyone. In fact, she wondered if it might even hit a little too close to home for him.

She tried to lighten the mood, as she often did these days. "I'm really glad that we were able to bring him along for the beach trip, even if he _was_ feeling a little under the weather."

A tiny smile finally crossed Yamato's face. "Yeah," he agreed, "But what choice did we have? You saw that pathetic puppy-dog face he made when we told him no."

A smile bloomed on her own face. Yes, Takeru had been very put-out about being left behind from the team's annual trip to the ocean. In fact, Sora suspected that he was feeling left behind by the group in general, trapped as he was in a sickbed while his friends finished the school semester and started their summer breaks. He was fatigued and thin and pale, but it didn't stop him from putting on the Takeru-charm to try to get what he wanted. "Please, Sora-nee-san?" he had begged her, gripping a blanket around his shoulders and blinking big, blue eyes at her. "Please, can I come? I'll rest in a beach chair and stay out of the sun and I'll even listen to Nii-san. I promise!"

Thus, despite Yamato's concern and Natsuko's concern and her own, among others, Takeru was able to leave the apartment for the first time in weeks (for something other than a doctor's appointment) and spent a day with everyone else on the beach, though he was kept under a beach umbrella and covered by a thin blanket and was plied with water by pretty much every Chosen that passed by him.

But still. He had looked ridiculously happy, bundled up underneath that umbrella. And Yamato had said that after that day, Takeru just seemed…lighter, for a while. He felt included again. He felt positive.

But did he still?

 _We'll find out shortly,_ she thought to herself, the apartment building coming into sight.

Yamato usually visited his brother daily, and today, he thought it'd make Takeru happy to see her and Taichi again. Few of them found the time to come and visit their sick friend, now that school was back in session.

It made her feel guilty, but she was here now to make up for it. She hoped Takeru understood.

When the three were settled in the elevator, an out-of-the-blue statement by Taichi surprised Sora and Yamato both: "Alright then," he said randomly, thumping a fist into the flat of his other hand.

Sora blinked. "Alright what?"

Taichi had that undiscernible look on his face, the one he got when he was sorting through heavy and difficult thoughts, before he locked eyes with his best friend. In a flash, that mysteriousness was gone, replaced by the patented, carefree Taichi grin.

"I just have a feeling," he said, radiating confidence as he laced his fingers behind his head and smiled. "Takeru's gonna be fine. I just know it. He'll be back to normal in no time, wearing dumb hats and trolling people. You'll see, Yamato."

The Chosen of Friendship was silent, looking almost ready to argue (which would have come so naturally to him), before he seemed to cave under the formidable weight of Taichi's confidence.

Hope, it seems, won.

"…yeah," he finally replied, relaxing for the first time since…well, she didn't remember. She hadn't seen him relaxed all day. "Yeah, you're right. He'll get better soon."

Sora couldn't have fought the incoming smile if she had tried. An optimistic Yamato was a rare thing, especially these days. It was very, very welcome.

Though it was the response Taichi had been looking for, he seemed surprised to receive it. It didn't stop him from milking it for all it was worth.

"Did…did you just tell me that I'm _right?_ " he said in mock-awe, pointing to himself with wide eyes. Sora rolled her own. "Are you finally coming to appreciate my wisdom? Are you finally realizing that you actually respect and even admire my unique set of skills?"

"Shut up," Yamato spat back, as they approached the door to the Takaishi apartment. He pulled a key out of his pocket and jiggled it in the lock. "You really know how to make a normal situation _awkward_ , weirdo."

"You can say that again," said Sora with a giggle as Yamato pushed open the door. Taichi sputtered and then _hmph_ -ed indignantly as they entered the apartment.

The Takaishi residence was dim and silent. The lights were all off, and they didn't dare turn them on, in case Takeru was sleeping in the living room. That would explain why it was so quiet at this time of the afternoon, when the rest of the city was leaving work or school and rushing to get home.

The three shed their shoes in the doorway, and Sora took note of how clean the apartment looked, or at least what she could see of it. She remembered Yamato mentioning that Takeru and Takaishi-san were generally very neat people, and it wasn't difficult for them to keep a tidy apartment. This was almost a comical contrast to the other half of the Ishida-Takaishi family. Sora had seen the Ishida apartment first-hand, and well…they sometimes could use a little help. Or a lot.

Yamato turned his head toward the direction of the living room as he hung up his school blazer. "He must be sleeping," he whispered, gesturing to the other two to be quiet. "Hopefully he got something in his stomach today. You guys hungry?"

Taichi gave him the thumbs-up. "You know it!" he tried to whisper back, though whispering was not a strong-suit of his.

"Why do I ask?" the blond muttered, and they stepped lightly, quietly, into the living room.

It had been a short while since Sora had last seen Takeru, and she hoped that he was looking a little better than last time. At least, hopefully he wasn't as thin, or as pale. Maybe he'd even be able to sit and have an after-school snack with them.

 _I'll see for myself in a second,_ she thought. However, upon entering the living area, she proved herself wrong.

Takeru's sickbed lay askew on the floor, empty. There was no sign of the sick boy.

She turned and looked at Yamato, whose brow furrowed at the sight of the empty bed. She knew, from what he had told her, that Takeru was not often up and around. He was pretty much _always_ in that bed.

A lightning bolt of worry flashed across Yamato's face and then vanished when he calmly reasoned "He must have…just gone to the bathroom or something. You guys head to the kitchen, I'll go check up on him."

Sora nodded, and she let down her school bag on the couch as Yamato went down the hall in search of his brother. Taichi put his hands in his pockets and lead the way to the kitchen.

"Imagine what he's going through, laying around day after day, staring up at the ceiling all day long?" he said musingly, turning his gaze up to the aforementioned ceiling. "Poor kid must be going insane."

Sora nodded sympathetically, opening her mouth to speak…when something in the dim room caught her eye.

There, on the kitchen floor, by the counter around the corner…was a bare human foot, lying cold on the linoleum. Not moving.

Not _moving._

Sora felt her stomach drop out, and she let out an alarmed gasp that visibly startled Taichi. Her hand came up to cover her mouth out of reflex, and her crimson eyes widened at the foreboding sight.

It only took Taichi a moment to notice what had emitted such a response from her.

" _YAMATO!_ " he bellowed out, shooting forward into the kitchen, while Sora regained her sense of mind and flicked on the light switch before following after him.

Takeru lay on his side on the kitchen floor, hugging himself as though the sweatshirt he was wearing was not enough to keep him warm. His head rested near a chair leg, eyes closed in a white face. He was lying still. _Frighteningly_ still.

A kitchen chair lay overturned beside him, and Taichi kicked it out of the way so he could kneel by him and grip his shoulders with shaking hands.

"Takeru?! _Takeru!_ " he cried out to the boy, not daring to shake him in case he was hurt, or…something else. Sora felt her heart pound in her chest, her throat close up, her hand itch to feel for a pulse.

Oh, _please_ let him have a pulse.

" _TAKERU!_ " came Yamato's cry as he fell to his knees beside his brother so hard that Sora knew they would be bruised. He looked like he was likely to faint. Or kill something.

Then, Takeru's eyes fluttered open, like he was waking from a peaceful nap, and he actually _smiled._

"Hey," he mumbled with absurd casualness. "How was school?"

* * *

 _You know, for someone who isn't even a doctor yet,_ Taichi thought to himself, _we put an awful lot of faith in Jou's medical expertise._

The Chosen in question was currently examining Takeru, checking his vitals and trying to get a picture of the day's events that lead up to the frantic call that he received twenty minutes ago.

It had been Taichi's idea to call Jou. While Yamato had been adamant that Takeru needed to go to the hospital, Takeru had been just as adamant that he did _not_ need to go to the hospital. He insisted that he was fine, and he _looked_ fine, relatively speaking. When Sora calmly reasoned that an emergency room visit would certainly frighten Takeru's mother half to death, Yamato finally relented, albeit begrudgingly, and agreed to call Jou and see what he had to say about it.

Then, they moved a dazed and freezing Takeru back to his bed, Yamato anxiously asking a thousand questions and Sora fussing with blankets and pillows until Jou arrived, accompanied by Koushiro.

"Okay, you're going to have to explain this again," said Jou, finally sitting back after finishing his examination. He looked positively flustered. " _How_ exactly did you end up on the floor?"

Taichi turned his gaze to Takeru. Takeru, for his part, looked more embarrassed than anything else. He lay back on the pillow, a thick comforter pulled up to his chin, trembling ever so slightly from cold but trying to ignore it. Or hide it.

"I just…" he began softly, "I needed some water, so I got up, and…I dunno. I got dizzy, I guess, and I fell over. The room was spinning, and…I couldn't really get up." His face was turning red, from embarrassment or possibly from fever. Taichi suspected both.

"How long were you on the floor, Takeru?" Koushiro piped up from his spot on the living room floor beside Taichi.

"Uh…I dunno. A while, I guess. I fell asleep eventually."

This admission prompted more fussing from Sora, who proceeded to smooth down the already wrinkle-free blankets and ask him if there was anything he needed.

Taichi smirked at that. She was well and truly Takeru's second mom. He wondered if she would even deny it.

Jou hummed under his breath, thinking. "Well…whatever happened, it seems to have passed. I think you're alright now. I don't think you need a doctor." He said the words for everyone's benefit, but especially for a certain older brother who was currently pacing the length of the living room.

Taichi leaned back against the sofa and observed his best friend. Arms crossed, mouth taut, Yamato was the epitome of tenseness. Like a wind-up toy, fit to be set off at any moment. Taichi was strongly reminded of the Yamato he remembered from their very first adventure, when they were stranded in a snowy forest together, anxious to find their friends and _especially_ anxious to find Takeru. The helplessness the blond had felt then was a mirror image of what Taichi was sure he felt now.

"You hear that, Yamato?" he said, ignoring the eyes that fell on him for daring to poke the proverbial bear. "Jou says he doesn't need a doctor. He's just fine, right, Takeru?"

The younger boy was watching his brother's pacing, eyes worried. "Onii-san?"

Yamato didn't respond. He kept his eyes on the carpet, kept his arms crossed. Kept pacing.

A tension began to fill the room. Taichi could feel Koushiro and Jou seem to shrink a little, neither very talented at handling an agitated Yamato. Sora simply murmured a gentle, careful "Yamato?"

The blond finally halted, his back to the group. There was a beat of silence before he finally spoke: "…this is what I was afraid would happen."

Takeru seemed to deflate, a guilty look on his face which Taichi found odd until he spoke.

"…I'm sorry, Onii-san. I shouldn't have tried to-"

" _Don't._ " Yamato whipped around and locked eyes with his brother, blue on blue. His voice was intense and booked no argument. " _Don't_ apologize. This is _not_ your fault."

"That's right, Takeru," Sora offered, "It was just an accident."

"It's not your fault you feel like crap, kiddo," Taichi said, with an earnestness that clashed slightly with his choice of wording.

Takeru nodded absently and said nothing, looking as though he could not agree with them less. Yamato evidently picked up on this, for his intensity sputtered and faded out, and he sunk to the floor beside his brother's sickbed.

"It's _not_ your fault, Keru," he insisted, reaching out to gently squeeze his brother's shoulder before drawing back and casting his gaze away. Takeru's guilt was infectious, for it now painted Yamato's face. "…if anyone's to blame, it's me…for leaving you here alone all the time." He shook his head, running a tired hand through his hair. "It wasn't such a big deal before, during the summer. I could be here while Mom was at work, and you weren't as sick then. But then school started, and now you're…"

He trailed off, unwilling to say the words out loud. Unwilling to admit that Takeru was getting worse.

But Taichi couldn't agree that his best friend was at fault here, and he meant to say it, but Takeru's voice came first.

"You're _wrong_ ," the Chosen of Hope said, fixing his brother with a stern look that was rare for him. "You and Mom are doing the best you can. Dad too. I know it."

"Takeru's right, Yamato," Jou chimed in, always the voice of reason. "Your mom has to work, and you have to go to school. There's no way around that."

"But the fact remains that it's no longer safe for Takeru to be home alone," Koushiro stated, presenting the facts as he does. "There's a possibility that this incident could be repeated in the future, with worse consequences."

" _Koushiro_ ," Sora hissed in a scolding voice, not wanting the genius's words to upset either of the brothers more than they already were. As it was, Taichi didn't miss the way that Yamato's fists clenched in response.

Taichi sighed nonetheless. "He's got a point though. Something needs to be done, but there's nothing we _can_ do. We're caught between a rock and a hard place."

Takeru lay silent, watching his friends around him, that horrible look of guilt tattooed onto his face.

Sora turned to Yamato. "Is it possible to get someone to come here during the day?" she asked him hopefully. "Like a nurse or something?"

He shook his head, one thumb stroking his brother's arm. "The doctors' fees are starting to add up." He lowered his voice to a near whisper. "Money's getting tight."

Nobody knew what to say to that. There was nothing _to_ say. Aside from some clicks of Koushiro's keyboard, the room fell into silence.

Taichi wouldn't admit it, but this whole situation ate at him. Not just because Takeru and Yamato were his good friends, although that was of course a huge part of it. It all just reminded him far too much of when Hikari had fallen ill all those years ago. She was sick often as a child, and he had sat at her bedside and watched over her numerous times. But that one time, when she had collapsed in the park and had been whisked away in an ambulance and nearly lost her life to pneumonia…Taichi still occasionally had nightmares about it. He still blamed himself for it.

And now this…it brought back awful memories.

"I'll quit school."

Taichi's head snapped up, along with that of the rest of the group, and he turned to gape at the source of the voice.

Takeru stared wide-eyed at his brother. "Nii-san…w-what?"

"I won't go to school anymore," Yamato repeated, sitting back and crossing his arms, face set in an undefinable grimace. "I'll stay here during the day. Until you're better."

Taichi frowned at him, raising an eyebrow. "You really think your old man is gonna go for that?"

"I highly doubt Ishida-san will be happy with you quitting _school_ , Yamato," Jou said with skepticism.

The Chosen of Friendship merely stared back at them. "Unless either of you can think of something better, he'll _have_ to be happy with it."

"Nii-san…" Takeru started tentatively, shaking his head. "You don't have to do that _._ I'll be _fine._ I _promise_."

It was Yamato's turn to shake his head. "I can't go to school every day and wonder if I'm going to find you unconscious on the ground when I come back." His eyes took on a fiery edge. "I won't."

"You won't have to."

All eyes turned to Koushiro, who had spoken the words with a sudden confidence.

"Hm? What do you mean?" Sora questioned.

Taichi tilted his head at him. "Just what do you know that we don't, Koushiro?"

Koushiro turned his pineapple laptop so that the screen was facing his friends. His eyes met Yamato's determinedly. "There's an element we're all forgetting here. There _is_ someone who can stay with Takeru during the day."

Takeru turned confused blue eyes on the Chosen of Knowledge. "What? Who?"

Koushiro tapped the enter button on his keyboard, and the computer screen was illuminated with an eye-wateringly bright light.

Taichi shielded his face, squinting to make out just what was happening, before a familiar voice could be heard, shouting:

" _TAKERU!_ "

The light died down just enough for Taichi to see something round and orange shoot through the air and straight into Takeru's arms. He heard Takeru gasp and then exclaim in a choked voice:

" _PATAMON!"_

Indeed, the little winged digimon was there, nuzzling his face into his partner's neck and letting tears fall, just as Takeru was.

"Takeru! Koushiro told me you were sick! But I knew all along that something was wrong with you. My wings were aching and I didn't know why, except that maybe you were in trouble. I'm so sorry I wasn't here for you!"

Takeru clutched his tiny friend, shaking his head and letting tears fall into Patamon's orange fur. "Don't be sorry, buddy," he implored him with a wobbly voice. "I'm already better, now that you're here."

Taichi grinned at the display, but he also felt a twinge of sadness. He hadn't been sure of just how Takeru was coping with this mysterious illness, because the boy always seemed to put up something of a cheerful front. Now, seeing his tears, it couldn't be clearer that he truly was not as 'fine' as he claimed to be.

He saw the same train of thought go through Yamato's mind, for the gaze he turned on his little brother was very soft, and very sad.

Then, there was a second familiar voice.

"Patamon, you must be careful with Takeru. Koushiro said that he is very weak."

Patamon had burst into the room so forcefully that Gabumon's entrance had gone completely unnoticed. The horned digimon stood at the foot of Takeru's sickbed, patiently waiting to be acknowledged.

Yamato locked eyes with his partner, and the stress seemed to melt away. He smiled a warm smile that, for the first time in months, was not tinged with unease.

"Gabumon. You don't know how good it is to see you."

Gabumon returned the smile with a serene one of his own. "I had to come to you, Yamato. When Koushiro told us about Takeru, I knew that you would be worried. I had to be with you." He then blushed at the personal nature of his speech and look down at the floor.

 _You gotta love that little furry dude,_ Taichi thought to himself, and he meant it. He was relieved that his best friend had such a loyal partner to look after him.

Sora laughed for joy of seeing the digimon again. "It's great to see you two!"

"It is. But, uh…" Jou began, "What about the others? If you guys get to be here and the others don't, I'm never gonna hear the end of it from Gomamon."

Koushiro shut off and closed his laptop before answering "Not to worry. The rest are in my bedroom. I can only hope that Tentomon is maintaining some semblance of order."

They chuckled at the thought, a happy atmosphere filling the apartment. Patamon had shimmied himself under Takeru's blankets, which had Takeru laughing, and Gabumon had gone to sit beside his partner, who seemed contented by his mere presence. Everyone finally seemed to relax.

That is, until Jou posed a second question: "Okay, this is all very nice. But how exactly does this solve the problem of who will stay with Takeru when the rest of us are in school?"

"Isn't it obvious?" Patamon said, poking his head out from underneath the covers to look at Jou. "I'll stay with Takeru, of course! Being with Takeru is what I was born to do!"

Sora made an apprehensive face. "Is that…really a good idea, though? I mean, I'm sure you'll do fine, Patamon, but…shouldn't someone else…?"

"I will stay here, as well," Gabumon added. He looked up at Yamato. "I'll be here since you can't be."

Taichi threaded his fingers behind his head, thinking. "Well…you guys can't really cook food, or call an ambulance, but…well. What do you guys think?" He directed the question at Takeru and Yamato.

Takeru's smile had returned, and this time, it was genuine. "I think it's perfect." He nuzzled his partner. "There's no one better for the job."

"And you, Yamato?"

Yamato watched Takeru and Patamon interact for a moment, deliberating. Deciding. He then gazed down at Gabumon, who was resting a warm claw on his hand, and he finally nodded.

"…alright. We'll go for it."

Taichi nodded, grinning, and leaned back and closed his eyes. He remembered what he had said earlier in the elevator, about how Takeru was going to be fine, and he believed it.

Things were looking up already.

* * *

"… _if things seem normal, then everyone smiles. Everyone is okay. Everything is good. I want everything to be good for as long as it can…"_

His hand began to ache from holding the pen, so Takeru capped it and hooked it on the page, closing his notebook and pushing it away until the next bout of inspiration comes. Writing was getting both easier and more difficult. Sometimes it seemed like all he had these days were his thoughts, and for him, there was no better motivator to write then when he had _thoughts._

But at the same time, his body was getting weaker. It was getting harder to sit up to write.

He sighed, reaching over to lightly stroke the orange fur on the top of Patamon's head. The little guy was snoozing on his pillow, softly snoring, wings flaccid and drooped as though he had just flown a marathon and he couldn't fly anymore if he tried.

 _I've got to remember to massage his wings later,_ Takeru mentally noted.

He remembered what his partner had said, when they were reunited earlier. " _My wings were aching and I didn't know why, except that maybe you were in trouble._ " Did that mean that they were physically connected in some way? Had Patamon been feeling strange ever since his illness first showed its head? Takeru felt nauseous at the idea that he could be making his best friend sick by association. He didn't want to imagine Patamon slowly wilting and waning in the same way that he was.

Except…he was going to get better soon. Probably.

He heard the sound of a turning page.

Yamato was reclining on the sofa, a weighty textbook in hand. Physics, if Takeru guessed correctly. His brother seemed to have taken a new interest in the subject. ( _It's all yours, brother,_ he thought to himself. He had never been a fan of the sciences.) Gabumon sat at the other end of the sofa, quietly watching Yamato study, not looking like he was interested in moving anytime soon.

For the dozenth time in his life, he thanked the author of destiny for bringing Yamato and Gabumon together. There was no digimon better suited for his brother.

Takeru knew Yamato's mannerisms very well, so it was obvious to him that his brother was hovering. Oh, he was trying to be nonchalant about it, as always, but he hadn't left the living room since he'd arrived after school. He hadn't strayed far from the spot beside his sickbed or from the sofa that lay parallel to it. He hadn't missed the occasional glances Yamato made in his direction.

No doubt about it: he'd scared the hell out of his Nii-san today.

Takeru fought the urge to groan and instead pulled the covers up over his head, like a turtle retreating into its shell.

He felt humiliated.

His friends and brother came home to find him crumpled on the floor. Pathetically. Helplessly. They'd had to help him back to his bed like a sick child. He'd made them argue over whether or not to call an ambulance. He'd forced them to bother Jou and Koushiro.

They had assured him that it wasn't his fault, but he didn't believe that. It just sounded so stupid, that he'd frightened and worried his friends all because he got dizzy and fell and lacked the basic strength to get up. It couldn't be anyone's fault _but_ his.

He dug himself deeper into his blanket cocoon. He kind of wished he could just disappear.

There was a time once when he was the littlest member of the team, all of seven years old. Even _Hikari_ had been bigger than him. He often looked back on that time with a feeling of self-loathing, because he couldn't believe how much of a burden he must have been to the team, always whining and crying and causing Yamato so much stress. Causing everyone so much stress.

He had thought that he had come a long way since then; that he was better. Stronger. More independent. More dependable.

But in reality…maybe he was still that helpless little kid.

A knock on the door interrupted his thoughts.

He pulled the blanket off his head, sitting up on his elbows, while Yamato got himself to his feet, tossing his book on the couch.

"Who the hell…?" his brother thought out loud, glancing at the clock on the cable box. It was an odd time of the evening to have guests. Yamato turned to Takeru with a short "You stay put," and he went off to answer the door.

Gabumon came to sit beside him on the floor, and he gave him a sympathetic look. "I'm sorry that you feel unwell, Takeru," he said with sincerity.

Takeru painted on a smile for the digimon who used to hold him while he slept to keep him warm. "Thanks," he said, "But it's really not so bad. I'll get better in no time."

Gabumon looked at him and said nothing.

Voices were approaching.

"You really didn't have to do this, Dad. We would have managed."

"Son, I happen to know that neither of you have been eating much lately. Getting you dinner is one thing that I actually _can_ do."

Takeru watched as Yamato lead their father into the apartment. His dad looked like he'd had a long day, with his hair a bit unkempt and his tie hanging undone around his neck. In one arm, he carried several white boxes of takeout.

Gabumon looked up at the familiar face. "It's nice to see you again, Yamato's father," he stated politely.

A tired smile graced Hiroaki's face. Takeru knew he was very fond of the blue-striped creature. "Gabumon. Always a pleasure."

"Is that food?" Patamon suddenly lifted his head, roused from his nap by the aroma of spices. "I smell _food!_ "

Hiroaki gestured to the offering he brought. "I hope you're all hungry. I have enough noodles here to feed a family of twenty."

Yamato scoffed. "Well, judging by _these guys'_ appetites, we're gonna need it." He relieved his father of the boxes and carried them off to the kitchen to get them on plates. The hungry digimon followed.

Takeru smiled at his father. As busy as he was, he tried to come a few times a week to check up on him, see how he was doing. It made him feel a touch guilty for taking up what little free time his dad had, but he was always glad to see him nonetheless.

Hiroaki knelt down beside him. "How are you feeling, son?" he questioned, scrutinizing his face for a moment, seeming to be trying to gauge his son's health for himself.

Takeru shrugged, hoping he appeared normal, even though he suddenly felt like he needed to lie down. "I'm okay. That was an awful lot of food you brought. You didn't have to."

His dad continued his analysis, reaching up to feel his forehead with the back of his hand. "It's no trouble. I couldn't help but notice…you're looking a little thin these days…" he trailed off before adding "…your brother, too."

Takeru cast his eyes down, pondering that. Was his Nii-san not eating enough? So much so that his dad was noticing?

Finally finishing his scrutiny, his dad sat back and frowned. "These damn doctors need to get it together and figure out what the hell is going on here," he grumbled under his breath, shaking his head. He rested a hand on Takeru's shoulder. "Don't you worry, son. We'll get you better soon."

Takeru nodded, suddenly feeling very self-conscious. He'd gotten way too much attention today. It was a strange thing to feel, considering that he spends most of his time alone, wishing for someone to visit him. It left him feeling confused, frustrated with himself.

"I'd better go help Yamato with the food," his dad said, standing up, wincing at a pain in his back. "Be right back, Takeru."

He strode off, leaving Takeru to his thoughts.

Truthfully, he had no appetite. He hadn't had one all week. He had a bit to eat here and there, when his mother or Yamato insisted, but he just didn't have the desire to pursue food. It just seemed too tiring. He hadn't eaten at all today, what with his dizzy spell and everything. Even now that he felt a little better, a meal just held no appeal to him.

He frowned at himself. Wasn't he the least bit appreciative of his dad's generosity? Of his willingness to take time out of his day to look after him and his brother? Was he really so ungrateful?

Low murmurs from the kitchen caught his attention, his dad's and Yamato's voices. They were speaking in hushed tones, as though they meant for someone not to hear. Him, presumably. They always seemed to be protecting him from something.

Takeru hesitated for a moment before crawling to the foot of the sickbed, closer to the entrance to the kitchen and within better earshot. It was eavesdropping, yes, but if they were talking about something they didn't want him to hear, then it was probably something he _needed_ to.

He bowed his head, listening in.

"…all I'm saying is that you may be stretching yourself too thin. You're graduating next year, son. You've got entrance exams, your studies, your band, the digimon responsibilities, being here with your brother…"

Takeru felt a clench in his chest. " _Being here with your brother._ " He hadn't thought of his brother's visits as another thing that Yamato had to add onto his busy schedule, but hearing it put like that, that's exactly what it was: another responsibility. Another chore.

Then, his brother's voice:

"…the Digital world has been quiet. And the band's kind of on a hiatus right now because…I dunno, my head's been a little preoccupied. I can't really write anything right now…"

 _So that's why he hasn't mentioned the band lately,_ Takeru thought to himself. He'd thought his brother was just being private, as was often the case.

"…you think that'll swing forever? Eventually they're going to want to get back into it, and they won't want to wait around for you. This is what you've been working towards, Yamato. Takeru understands."

"I just can't do it right now, alright? It's hard to focus on chords and lyrics with him being sick. I just need to be here."

Pressure began to build up in Takeru's head. A chill ran down his arms.

Yamato had to step away from his music because of _him_. He's gotten distracted, because of _him._ He might have eventually come to that conclusion himself, but to hear it from his brother's own lips…

 _What an enormous burden I've become._

"…I get it son," he heard his dad say. "You're worried about him. But…but you're still young-"

"What the hell am I supposed to do?" Yamato hissed back, accompanied by the thumping of a fist on a table. "Go out on dates? Sell out concerts? Have the time of my life, while _he's_ -!"

He cut himself off, the room falling into a tense silence, and Takeru had heard enough. He padded away from the kitchen and back into bed, feeling worn out. Feeling done.

He curled up on one side and had to will himself not to cry. The last thing he wanted was for everyone to come back into the room and see him upset. They'd only try to make him feel better, burdening themselves even more.

The truth is that he had locked his brother up in a cage. He had taken advantage of the fact that Yamato cared so deeply about his health that he gave up his hobbies, his free time, his dream of being a famous musician, just to be here to look after him. And he made Yamato feel like he had no choice.

He had forced his mother to work longer hours for the sake of paying for his medical bills, and he had made his father worry about Yamato's future. He had caused his friends to sit around his bedside, wracking their brains to figure out a solution to the problem of his helplessness. His uselessness.

They would all say that the illness was to blame, but that wasn't true.

It was him. _He_ was the burden.

Patamon suddenly entered his vision, a fortune cookie in his mouth, eyes gleeful at the prospect of dinnertime. Gabumon came beside him as well, a plate of hot food in each claw. He lay one near Takeru's head.

"All right, let's eat," his father declared, in a pleasant voice that would have completely obscured the tension from the kitchen discussion, if Takeru had not known any better. Except that he did.

Takeru sat up, rubbing his eyes, and watched as his dad took a seat on the sofa and began to dig in. Yamato followed after, looking only slightly troubled, and when he looked at Takeru, he smirked deceptively.

"You must be starving, little bro. You probably haven't eaten a thing all day. I grabbed you some extra udon, I know it's your favorite…" He suddenly paused and gave Takeru a suspicious, knowing look. "Hey. Something wrong? You look like you've got something on your mind."

Takeru looked back at him, thoughts spiraling. Was something wrong? Yes, something was wrong. Him. _He_ was wrong. His _health_ was wrong. His _life_ was wrong. And now, because he wasn't strong enough to deal with it all on his own, his loved ones' lives were wrong too.

But what could he say to the brother whom he had imprisoned in his world of sickness and selfishness? What could he say that would possibly make any of this okay?

He wasn't sure, but there was one thing he _did_ know: Yamato didn't need to know of his inner turmoil.

He had caused him enough pain.

"No, nothing's wrong," he said, taking the plate of food into his hands and giving his brother perhaps the falsest smile he's ever had.

"I'm fine."

If only it were true.


	6. Life

I do not own Digimon.

A big thank you to the people who leave reviews. They DELIGHT me.

* * *

" _Hope is a lot of things, and there are a lot of things that it isn't. I should know that better than anyone._

 _But if I had to sum it up, I would say that hope is like a hand, stretching and reaching out into the darkness, searching, searching, searching for me until it finds me._

 _Even when I can't find myself."_

* * *

Yamato tapped the pen against the table, drumming the fingers of his other hand in a rhythm, trying to pull some sort of inspiration out of the air, since obviously it wasn't going to come from his head. He thinks briefly that a snack may help, but a glance at the clock – which reads nearly ten-thirty p.m. – tells him that it's too late to be eating.

His mom has already come home from work, and is currently sitting in the living room with Takeru. Eyes tired, makeup wearing off, a hand stroking Takeru's hair, she sits beside his sickbed, watching some TV program while Takeru sleeps, oblivious to her presence.

Yamato had taken a moment earlier to observe the two of them from his spot at the kitchen table, and he couldn't help but notice how often his mother would seem to forget about the television in favor of watching her littlest son sleep. She gazed at him as though at any moment, the color may return to his cheeks, and he may open his eyes and say to her "Momma, I'm all better now!" She didn't even blink sometimes, like she was afraid she would miss it if she did.

Yamato didn't blame her. How often had he caught himself doing the same thing?

Shaking the cobwebs out of his head, he frowned at himself. There he goes again, getting _hopelessly_ distracted. He tossed down the pen in frustration.

It was no good; these song lyrics were just _not_ coming along. He'd been at it for days. He'd tried to write a song about self-discovery, and _then_ he'd tried to write a love song, and _then_ he'd tried to write a song about rebellion and rage.

But no matter what his direction was, no matter what he _tried_ to say, every line just seemed to have the same underlying theme: "Get better soon."

Yamato tilted his head back, staring up at the ceiling tiles. _This_ is exactly why he had decided months ago to take a break from the band: he just couldn't concentrate. He couldn't focus on any creative ideas long enough to write anything half-way decent. He could sit and free-style mindlessly on the guitar, sure, and he could play the old songs that he has performed so many times that he can play them from muscle-memory. But nothing more. He has certainly tried.

His bandmates had been discouraged when he told them about going on a hiatus, but they understood. They knew Takeru, and they knew how Takeru affected Yamato. The moment they heard that Takeru was seriously ill, they knew a break was inevitable.

His dad and his friends had tried to talk him out of it, had tried to persuade him into thinking that continuing with his music, with his hobbies, would help to make this time easier. That his life was going to be turned upside-down enough without him making it worse on himself.

But in the end, as with most things, only Takeru could make him cave.

He had insisted one day, out of the blue, that Yamato start going to band practice again. He had told him earnestly that he _wanted_ him to go.

" _Please, Onii-san_ ," he had said, too tired to sit up and thus lying back on the pillow, looking him dead in the eye. " _You're always the happiest when you're making music. And…and it makes me happy, too._ "

And well…what else could he possibly say to _that?_

 _Not that it's made things any easier,_ he brooded to himself. _Everything I write is still crap._

He looked over at his partner, seated across the table from him. Gabumon was browsing through his phone, silent as always, though out of concentration or out of a desire not to distract him, Yamato wasn't sure. Gabumon had taken a liking to Pinterest lately, after hearing about it from Hikari and Tailmon. Yamato had once scrolled through his partner's boards, taking note of his interest in wolves, music aesthetic, and surprisingly, anime. He'd asked Gabumon once if he had ever even _seen_ Fullmetal Alchemist, considering the amount of pictures he'd saved. Gabumon had replied that he had not; he just knew that the two characters were brothers, and that's all he cared about.

He smiled slightly. The wolf-like Digimon had always been like a balm on his nerves, soothing him with his very presence. Having him here in the Real World was nicer than he could put into words. He couldn't believe he hadn't thought of it sooner.

… _and there I go, getting distracted again,_ he thought, and shoved the page of lyrics away. He was getting nowhere. He was done for the night.

He stretched, flexing his back and shoulders, and was about to get up when someone softly called his name.

"…Yamato?"

"Hm?" he mumbled questioningly, turning toward the voice, Gabumon lifting his head to look as well.

Patamon was hovering in the air, wings batting lightly, a very serious expression on his face. An expression he did not wear often. Sure, Patamon was a warrior in his own right, and he knew when to goof off and when to be serious. But this face was not a battle grimace.

This was an expression of worry. Maybe even fear.

"Can I talk to you, Yamato?" he asked discreetly, eyes darting toward his sleeping partner for a moment before landing back on him. "While it's just us?"

Evidently, this was going to be a private conversation.

Yamato blinked over at Gabumon, who was instantly alerted by Patamon's unusual solemnity.

"Uh, yeah, sure. Of course. What's up?" he replied, though he began to get an unsettled feeling in his stomach. He hoped this wasn't bad news. He _really_ hoped this wasn't bad news about his _brother_.

Patamon landed on the counter, facing Yamato and Gabumon, and his wings drooped down like a down-trodden dog's ears. His big blue eyes even started to glisten, reminiscent of a tiny seven-year-old from long ago.

"I think…" he began slowly, trying to formulate his thoughts, "…I think that Takeru is sad. I think he's sad all the time now."

Yamato's hand flinched completely against his will, as though his mind was unable to process such news and _not_ have a physical reaction to it. His head began to ache. His _heart_ began to ache.

"…what do you mean by that, Patamon?"

The orange Digimon shook his head gloomily. "He feels sick all the time. He just…" A tear fell. "He just doesn't smile anymore. Not like he _used_ to. And he writes sad things in his notebook. I don't…I don't know what to do."

His voice broke toward the end, and Gabumon got up and went over to him, silently taking his paw in an act of comfort.

Yamato tore his eyes away from his brother's Digimon, glaring down at his clenched hand, a severe frown marring his face and racing thoughts going through his head.

"…damn it," he muttered, and he stood up quickly enough for the chair leg to screech a defined whine. He winced at the loud sound, and spun to see if it had awoken his brother.

But when he poked his head in the living room, Takeru had remained still, swaddled under four blankets and hiding his face in the pillow. Hiding his face just as, as Patamon has now made it known to him, he has been hiding his pain.

Yamato sighed, ran a hand down his face, and turned to rejoin the Digimon in the kitchen. They both looked up at him with wide eyes, waiting for his direction. For his lead.

It just made him feel more helpless.

What could he even say?

"…it makes sense," he finally murmured, after agonizing seconds. "That he would be a little depressed, I mean. He was a healthy kid six months ago, and now he's not, and…the doctors can't tell us _why._ And with things gearing up in the Digital World again…" His mind went briefly to the team's latest project: an endeavor to build a new city. "He probably feels left out, since he can't go. He's _always_ gone with them…"

Yamato had been suspicious that his brother was unhappier than he was letting on. He smiled at everyone who came to visit, and he listened as intently as he was able when they talked about school and plans and the Digimon. But lately, he's just seemed more…disconnected.

Takeru had even gently suggested once that maybe everyone – Yamato included – should come over less often. He'd reasoned that coming to sit by his bedside and watch him lay around couldn't be enjoyable for anyone, and that just because _he_ couldn't go out and live his life, it doesn't mean that the others shouldn't either. He would be fine alone, he said.

Now it makes sense.

"…you're right, Patamon," he said, casting his eyes down to the floor, not wanting to see the look on Patamon's face. "You're right…I think Takeru _is_ sad."

He heard Patamon's pained whimper. It was definitely a sound that tugged at the heart. Or at least, at his heart. He'd always had something of a protectiveness toward his little brother's Digimon.

A heavy silence followed, Yamato simply lacking the words to say, at a loss for how to fix this, and Patamon, simply too upset.

Gabumon, therefore, had to break the silence.

"Don't worry, my friend," he said reassuringly, tone saddened by the dismal topic of discussion, but still retaining its calming effect. "Takeru will feel much better after the surprise party."

Patamon's head shot back up, wings flaring, blinking big, confused eyes. "Huh? Surprise party?"

Gabumon nodded and smiled softly before turning to him. "Right, Yamato?"

Yamato crossed his arms, a smirk emerging from his stoic face. "He doesn't _know_ about it yet, Gabumon. I haven't told him."

"Told me what? Told me _what?_ " Patamon said, his demeanor of upset quickly shifting to one of impatient curiosity. He looked from Yamato to Gabumon and back again, obviously wanting an answer very badly. He made a little hopping motion as though he couldn't contain himself. "What are you guys _talking_ about?"

While Gabumon calmly shushed him, not wanting his boisterousness to be too loud, Yamato stepped aside to take one last glance at his sleeping brother, and a determination filled him.

If Takeru was unhappy now, he would not be for long. Yamato would make sure of it.

The tension diminished, Yamato crept close to the two Digimon, lowering his voice and all of a sudden feeling very _sneaky._

"Patamon…can you keep a secret?"

* * *

The raindrops created long, jagged streaks across the glass balcony door, distorting the city below and making the world seem unclear. Blurry. Uncertain.

Or maybe it's just Takeru.

He's slumped on the floor, looking out at the rain, a down comforter covering him yet still not completely keeping out the chill. He's wearing three pairs of socks, and his feet are still frozen. His hands, too.

His notebook rests beside him, but he doesn't want to touch it. He knows that his latest entries have been a bit dreary. Today, all he's written about is the rain, and the cold, and being lonely. He's written a lot about being lonely.

Takeru scoffs self-deprecatingly, rubbing his eyes and pulling the blanket closer. He was moping, he knew. It was pathetic, but he couldn't help himself.

Patamon and Gabumon sat behind him on his sickbed, watching him silently, as they had been all day. He sort of wished that they would find something else to do – being watched all day made him feel trapped - but he knew they were just worried about him.

Truthfully, he was worried about himself. He's faced numerous difficulties and challenges and even tragedies, but he's never been _this_ down before. It's never been _this_ hard for him to be happy. He's sick, yeah, but it's more than that.

 _It's like…_ he muses, seeing his pale reflection in the glass, _…it's like I'm fading. Like something in me is…disappearing._

His lungs seemed to catch in his chest, and he coughed lightly. Rustling behind him proceeded Patamon's voice, which asked him "Takeru? Are you okay?"

"Oh yeah," he said, turning to glance at his and his brother's partners. They both stared unblinking at him. "I'm alright. My chest is just…I'm fine."

Patamon looked like he didn't know how to respond to that, while Gabumon quietly got up and headed for the kitchen with no mention of a motive.

Takeru watched him go, thinking that Yamato would probably be arriving soon (hopefully he didn't forget an umbrella that morning, or he'd be soaking wet and grumpy when he came in), when Patamon interrupted his thoughts by climbing into his lap and saying musically, "Happy Birthday, Takeru!"

He chuckled despite his mopey mood. "Thanks, buddy. That's the fourth time you've said that, you know."

Patamon grinned. "I just want to make sure you know I mean it!"

Takeru shook his head fondly, giving his partner a squeeze.

Happy birthday to him, indeed. He was fourteen today. Twice as old as he'd been during his first digital adventure. Seven years since he'd first met Patamon. He doesn't know where the time went.

 _I really should be in a better mood,_ he thought to himself, turning back toward the rain while Patamon made a nest of the blankets in his lap. _Aren't kids supposed to be excited about their birthdays?_

His mom certainly had been. She'd been a ray of sunshine that morning, bubbly and jubilant. Takeru had done his best to put on a happy face for her, honestly touched by how hard _she_ was trying for _him_. She'd squeezed him in a hug, taking a moment to hold his face in her hands and say "I can't believe _mon b_ _é_ _b_ _é_ is fourteen already!"

Then, she'd handed him a gift, wrapped in green paper with a gold ribbon: a touch-screen tablet, brand new, with digital reading software pre-installed so that he could download and read all the books he wanted to his heart's content. It was truly a generous gift, considering their current financial situation that he wasn't supposed to know about, but knows about anyway.

Additionally, she'd assured him that she had somehow managed to get the entire weekend off from work to spend with him, and that his dad would be coming with Yamato for a birthday dinner, all together.

 _That_ had surprised him. They haven't celebrated anything as a family since Yamato's seventh birthday. It was kind of his parents to put aside their differences for one night for his sake, though truthfully, he couldn't help but feel like it was only because of his illness that they were bothering.

Still. It was nice.

A claw on his shoulder startled him from his musings. Gabumon had returned with a glass of water, handing it to him with a steady "Drink this water, Takeru. Yamato says you need lots of water."

He nodded and accepted the drink, taking a small sip while he felt two pairs of eyes watch him carefully.

Having Patamon and Gabumon around was great, but he couldn't help but wonder if they were feeling a little put out about missing all the action in the Digital World, especially these days.

Recently, the Chosen had undertaken the grand task of helping to establish a new city in the Digital World; they and their partners had been asked for _specifically_ to lead the process. It was hard work, from what Takeru had been told, but it was a very exciting endeavor. They worked alongside the Digimon, planning and designing and sharing ideas. Often, they traveled to the Digital World after school to check on the progress, and everyone was eager to contribute his or her unique expertise to the project.

They told him all about it when they came to visit him. Jou was working with Centaurumon to build a clinic. Mimi was helping to develop shops and a business district. Hikari and Ken were making plans for a school, and _somehow,_ Daisuke had talked Digitamamon into naming him a partner in the restaurant business. Everyone was contributing, and everyone was enjoying it, especially since they were finally on an adventure that didn't involve grave danger or an impending end of the world.

 _Of course…_ Takeru thought, watching cars race through puddles below, a bitter frown marring his face, … _I can't help. I'm too sick._

Which meant that Patamon was effectively sidelined, as well.

Yamato opted out of the project, claiming that he didn't have the time, but Takeru knew that he was just staying out of it for his sake. So he wouldn't feel like the _only one_ left out.

It didn't matter. Takeru felt absolutely excluded. He felt _useless._ And he felt like he was missing out on an adventure that, six months ago, he would have been _deeply_ involved in. He'd be going to the Digital World everyday too, just like his friends.

 _Stupid freaking illness._

Patamon yawned, nuzzling deeper into the blankets, and Takeru thoughtlessly lifted a hand to stroke the fur on the top of his head.

Watching his friends' excitement over the new project…hearing their stories…even just hearing them talk about their day, it all just made him feel like they were going on with their lives without him.

 _And why shouldn't they?_ He pondered, _Why should they stay trapped in place, not moving forward…just because I can't?_

He didn't blame them, truly. He couldn't. But all the same, he just felt like…like he wasn't part of the team anymore.

Useless. It was really the perfect word to describe him.

 _Happy Birthday to me._

He could hear noise from the hallway outside the apartment; probably a neighbor, returning home. He wondered briefly where his brother was. He wondered even _more_ briefly, and with a touch of contempt, if any of his friends would bother visiting him today, or if they'd forget him altogether and go straight to the Digital World to work on their new, exciting project without him…

He shook his head, a little ashamed of himself for his spitefulness. Of course they wouldn't just forgethim; at least, not _all_ of them. Hikari would visit, _that_ was for certain. And Iori, probably. And Sora. Maybe Taichi. Yamato was a given.

The noise in the hallway increased until it was a distinct rumbling, making it sound as though an entire football team was stomping down the hall. He wondered if one of his neighbors was having a party or something.

When the rumbling only continued to get louder, he turned around, blinking in confusion at the intrusive sound. Patamon and Gabumon, too, were alerted to the noise.

 _What the heck?_

Just when it seemed like the ruckus would pass his door and continue its trek down the hallway, it abruptly stopped, leaving a climactic silence in its wake.

The doorbell to his apartment buzzed.

Patamon let out a delighted squeal, slapping both paws over his mouth and turning to Gabumon inquiringly. The blue-striped Digimon stood up and wordlessly went to get the door.

Takeru gained the clarity of mind to say "Uh, Gabumon…should you be answering that? It could be—"

He's cut off when what sounds like two dozen voices explode into his apartment, the volume of the room suddenly skyrocketing.

Before he can process any of this in his brain, ten excitable Digimon come bounding into his living room, wings flapping and tails swooshing and claws and fins slapping the ground, all talking and laughing at once. When all ten pairs of eyes fall on him, smiles burst across faces, and they all cry in unison.

" _ **MERRY CHRISTMAS, TAKERU!"**_

Takeru stares at them, not comprehending anything, wondering if he's really gotten the day _that_ wrong, when Miyako suddenly follows after them, hands on her hips, fixing the digimon with a disapproving look.

"Ugh, _guys_ , what did we tell you all on the way here? It's 'Happy Birthday,' not 'Merry Christmas.' That's _next_ month! You had _one chance_ to make an entrance, you guys!"

They stare back at her, Agumon and V-Mon looking confused, Wormmon and Tentomon looking embarrassed, Tailmon rolling her blue eyes and muttering "Humans and their _customs_ ," Gomamon laughing at the sheer hilarity. They turn back to him and try again with equal enthusiasm.

" _ **HAPPY BIRTHDAY, TAKERU!"**_

He opens his mouth to speak when his apartment is suddenly filled with _people._ Rainboots squeak as they're lined up by the door, backpacks are being set down in a pile on the floor, and presents and plates of food are being placed wherever there is room. All the while, Takeru hears his name being spoken repeatedly among the cacophony.

"Happy Birthday, Takeru! Where should we put the gifts?"

"Yo, Takeru! Happy Birthday, kiddo! You feel old yet?"

"I know it's your birthday, Takeru, but don't go too crazy, okay? Eat cake in moderation."

"Yay, a party for Takeru! Let's do karaoke~!"

Takeru sat motionless, watching as his friends – all _twenty-two_ of them – went about his apartment like a tornado. It was going to be a heck of a mess to clean up later.

But he didn't care. They were here. They were _all_ here. For him.

He could've cried for joy.

He was about to attempt to haul himself up to his feet when he was promptly tackled by multiple people in a suffocating group hug.

"Hell yeah! We _totally_ surprised you!" was Daisuke's cry of triumph to his left.

"Hey, it was Yamato-senpai's idea to do this, you know!" came Miyako's retort from somewhere behind him.

"Happy Birthday, Takeru! How does it feel to be fourteen?" Hikari's voice said by his right ear.

"Um, guys, we should probably be careful," said Ken from the outer layer of the hug.

Iori's nod shook the entire clump of limbs. "Ken's right. We shouldn't smother him to death on his birthday. We'll never be invited back."

Takeru let out a gasping laugh, honestly beginning to need to breathe, when an unmistakable voice cut through the air.

"Hey, guys, give him some breathing room, why don't you? Oxygen is kind of a thing."

The group hug loosened, and Takeru glanced up to see his brother standing by the doorway, Gabumon in his arms, smirking at him and looking relaxed and content and utterly _pleased._

 _That,_ if nothing else, brought the tears.

* * *

"Alright, alright! Time for Takeru to open his gifts!"

Mimi's announcement caused Takeru's eyes to snap open, rousing him from the light doze that he was succumbing to. He really hadn't meant to get so sleepy, but it couldn't be helped. He hadn't had this much stimulation in weeks. _Months._

The afternoon had been rowdy, noisy, and wonderful. The Chosen and their Digimon lounged about the apartment, socializing and playing games and creating chaos, all the while eating bowls of junk food. It was cramped, with twelve kids and twelve Digimon, but if anyone minded, no one said anything.

Takeru had situated himself on the couch, accepting everyone's birthday wishes and laughing more genuinely than he had in a while. He talked with his friends, making witty comments and bad puns, and they all chuckled when the Digimon made a game of trying to impersonate their humans (Gomamon acting as neurotic Jou was probably the funniest.)

It was all good fun, but energy was something he did not have much of these days, so before long, he felt himself slumping more and more in his seat, eyelids heavy, before Hikari gently suggested he lie down for a bit. Once back in his sickbed, he'd nearly fallen asleep, despite Daisuke's and Miyako's yelling as they played a competitive video game and Ken's futile attempts to get them to be quiet so that Yamato didn't kill them both for being too loud.

Takeru shook the tiredness from his head, trying to push himself upright, not wanting to miss out on the rest of his party because he needed a _nap._ Especially now as everyone was forming a circle around his bed to watch him open his presents.

 _Go, arms, go,_ he willed himself, trying to sit up but finding himself shaky and weak and a little short of breath.

Before he could struggle for long, though, he felt two hands slip under his arms and haul him upright, setting him up against a solid chest for support.

"You alright?" he heard Yamato's voice say from behind him, whispering for no one's ears but his. Patamon suddenly crawled in his lap and looked him full in the face, concerned at his odd breathing.

Takeru situated himself against his brother, having little energy to do much else, and nodded, tilting his head back to grin cheekily at Yamato. "Never better. Now what's this about gifts?"

Boxes and gift bags and oddly-wrapped parcels were shoved at him, and Tailmon offered her aide in the form of tearing through wrapping paper with her claws so that he could simply rest and watch.

And so it started.

A tiny box from Hikari revealed a phone charm, custom made to look just like Patamon, wings flared and blue eyes laughing.

Patamon giggled with delight at the gift, striking a pose to match the charm while the other digimon scrutinized it, astounded at how much it looked like their friend. Several of them requested that Hikari make one for _them,_ as well, which made her smile.

"Mine next!" cried Mimi, handing him a shopping bag which contained an outrageously stylish (and outrageously priced) merino-wool sweater. Its lilac hue was both chic and offensive, which perfectly described Takeru's sense of fashion, so he was pleased. Mimi winked and promised a matching one for Yamato's birthday, which had his brother sputtering profuse refusals.

Koushiro's gift had been a hard-cover book titled "Crowning Glory: A Comprehensive History of the Evolution of the Hat," which had several of them cackling, thinking it was a gag. However, Koushiro frowned with the utmost seriousness, explaining that if Takeru loved the accessory so much, he should be educated on its role in human society (which made them cackle even more).

From Taichi, he received a green backpack full of candy and snacks. "Just like the one from our first time in the Digital World!" he explained, fondly reminding Takeru of the chocolate bars and potato chips he had eaten to survive in the wilderness. (Normally, Yamato would have been annoyed at Taichi giving him a half-ton of junk food, but now, well, he really needed the calories, so what was the harm?)

A red-wrapped box revealed a green hoodie with a golden Crest of Hope emblazoned on the front, accompanied by a matching green beanie, which Takeru immediately pulled onto his head.

"Sweet, this is amazing! Who did this?"

"That'd be me," Sora piped up, reaching up to scratch the back of her head sheepishly. "I know you're cold all the time, so…"

Yamato grinned. "He'll put it to good use." Patamon was already making it into a nest.

Iori suddenly knelt forward, placing a somewhat bulky package beside Takeru. "I found this one on the kitchen table earlier. It doesn't say who it's from."

Takeru tilted his head at the strange box, trying and failing to pull it into his lap. "Woah, it's heavy. What could it be?"

"Let's find out," Tailmon replied, shredding through the brown wrapping paper to reveal a cardboard crate _full_ of shiny apples. The sweet scent permeated the room. Many of the Chosen looked confused at the unusual gift.

Takeru picked one apple up, turning it around in his hands, before comprehension dawned on him and he looked up at his brother. "Are these from…?"

His Onii-san smirked. "From Shopkeeper-san, yeah. He says he owes you more for all the mornings you've missed." His countenance darkened for a split second before realization kicked in. "Oh! And there's one more from me…"

He couldn't move much, what with Takeru leaning against him, so he gestured for Gabumon to fetch him a thin box from his bag, wrapped with a metallic silver bow.

"Here ya go, squirt."

The wrappings removed, Takeru lifted the lid of the box. "Woah…"

Inside was a set of what must have been a dozen vintage fountain pens, shiny black with gold accents, including the engraving of the word "Hope" on each one. They made for a lovely aesthetic in their red velvet case.

"Ooh, pretty!" said Hikari, gazing down at the gleaming pens.

Takeru didn't know what to say; they looked _very_ fancy, and _very_ expensive. "Nii-san…how—"

Arms squeezed him around his stomach. "Don't worry about it." He rested his chin on Takeru's shoulder. "Besides. You're always writing in that notebook of yours. You need some _real_ writing tools, since you're a _real_ writer."

He felt his face heat up, flattered and a little embarrassed, and he rested his head against his brother's for a moment, taking it all in while his friends crawled in closer to get a look at his gifts.

He can't believe that a few hours ago, he thought that his friends wouldn't even show up. He thought that they would forget all about him and go off to the Digital World, even on his birthday. He'd sat in front of the rain and had felt very lonely.

But now…

As his presents were passed around the room and Sora and Miyako scolded the Digimon for digging into the snacks he'd received from Taichi, Takeru felt a warmth fill him. The feeling of fading from before, of disappearing, wafted away like smoke.

His friends were amazing. His family, too. He squeezed his brother's forearm.

"…thank you so much, everyone," he said, his voice somehow rising above the mayhem. "This has been…this has been better than I could've imagined. I just…" He ducked his head, feeling a little overwhelmed. "…thank you so much."

Yamato's arms tightened around him, and Hikari rested a hand on his, smiling gently at him.

"Wait! Don't thank us yet! There's one more surprise!"

His head snapped up at the sound of Tentomon's voice. _Another_ surprise?

He felt his brother shift behind him. "What do you mean? I hadn't planned anything else."

Sora ran a hand through her red hair and chuckled. "Ahaha, yeah…the Digimon have a surprise of their own. It's…well, it's _unique_ , that's for sure."

Jou shook his head. "If by 'unique' you mean _terrifying,_ then yes, it's definitely unique."

Gomamon glared at his partner. "That's not very polite, Jou!"

Takeru could practically feel Yamato frown. "What the heck are you guys talking about? What surprise?" He turned an eye on Gabumon, who blushed and looked away.

Palmon jumped and flailed her arms. "We'll show you, we'll show you!"

All the Digimon disappeared into the kitchen, leaving some of the Chosen looking confused and some of them stifling laughter or looking mildly offended.

When they returned, they carried what must have been the birthday cake, covered by a checkered cloth, obscuring it from view.

Piyomon addressed the group. "Surprise! For your birthday, Takeru, we Digimon thought that it would be fun to decorate the cake ourselves and show you and all you humans how much we care about you all!

Takeru thought he heard Taichi mumble "Oh no," under his breath.

Hawkmon nodded and grasped the cloth. "Now, without further ado…ta-da!"

The Chosen gave a collective gasp.

Takeru couldn't fight the smile that spread across his face. Sora was right; it was definitely _unique._

"Uh…" Yamato muttered "…can someone…explain this?"

Ken leaned forward, squinting at the frosted dessert. "Yeah, I'm…I'm not quite sure what I'm seeing."

The cake was decorated by a jumbled nonsense of squiggly lines, blob-like shapes, and color patterns that had no sense of coherency or placement whatsoever.

It looked…well, it looked horrendous.

"Isn't it obvious?" Tentomon gestured to the image on the cake with his pointy claw. "We've drawn the twelve of you!"

"With frosting!" Patamon hugged his belly. "It was so yummy!"

Takeru tilted his head. "The twelve of us? Really?"

Upon further inspection, there were indeed twelve defined shapes, though some of them didn't look very human at all.

Piyomon pointed to one that lay horizontal at the top of the cake. "I drew Sora flying, like me!"

"I made Ken into a wonderful butterfly," said Wormmon with pride.

The kids came forward to get a closer look.

Daisuke put his hands on his hips. "Huh? Where's me?!" he demanded.

V-mon pointed to a worm-like shape in the corner. "You were too hard to draw, so I drew you as a noodle! You love noodles!"

Agumon nodded. "Taichi was too hard to draw too, especially his hair, so I made him into a mushroom instead." Indeed, an orange mushroom stood beside Butterfly-Ken.

Taichi dead-panned. "Thanks a lot, pal."

"You're welcome!"

"Um, Gabumon…" Yamato tentatively began, "Why does it look like I'm carrying a dead body?"

"Er…that's your guitar."

"…oh."

Patamon flew into Takeru's vision. "And Takeru, look!" He gestured to a yellow figure with a huge smile. "I made you shiny like the sun and gave you angel wings, like Angemon!"

Takeru looked at the angelic frosting version of himself, and at the atrocious renditions of his friends, and at his _actual_ friends, who were perplexed at their partners' perceptions of them, and he did the only thing he was able to.

He burst out into uncontrollable, unabashed laughter.

He went on laughing for a full minute, some of the others joining in, and Yamato had to remind him to breathe. But he couldn't help it.

He was so happy.

Patamon looked at him, bewildered. "Don't you think it's nice, Takeru?"

Takeru finally regained control over himself, wiping away tears of laughter, and grinned.

"It's beautiful," he finally said, referring to the cake.

And his life.

* * *

Taichi took a swig of his soda, wiping his mouth with his arm and leaning back against the kitchen counter (which, because of them, was trashed. They'd have to remember to pick up before Takaishi-san returned.)

It was late; everyone had more or less settled down to quiet chatting or good-natured video gaming. Sora, Iori, and Jou were attempting to build a house of cards at the kitchen table. The Digimon lay in a giant pile in the corner, looking like a mountain of stuffed animals, snoozing away.

Taichi smiled. They'd done a good job today.

He remembered how concerned Yamato had been last week; how worried he'd been about Takeru. He'd stressed it upon everyone that Takeru was feeling very low and needed some serious cheering up, and they could tell by the deadly seriousness on his face that he meant it.

Truthfully, Taichi had recognized it himself, just by seeing Takeru's dazed look when they'd all first arrived.

Yeah…he was definitely not himself.

Now though, after an afternoon of their own brand of craziness, he just seemed…better. More alive.

 _But how long it is gonna last?_ He mused to himself.

Footsteps padded into the kitchen, and Taichi recognized them as his sister's. She came to stand beside him, a plate of cake in hand.

"Look," she told him, pointing to her plate with her fork. "I got the piece with mushroom you."

"Congrats," he muttered, still unable to fathom Agumon's artistic outlook. "Let's hope it doesn't _taste_ like mushrooms."

Hikari made a face at that and leaned against the counter next to him.

There was silence for a moment before she asked him "…wanna tell me what you're thinking about?"

Taichi paused, weighing his words, before shrugging. "I dunno. Takeru. Yamato. Wondering if they're okay. If…if they're _gonna_ be okay…"

A solemn looked flashed across her face. He knew how much she worried about Takeru. About his illness. He did his best to comfort her, even though he was clueless himself.

Hikari suddenly turned, setting down her plate on the counter, and crooked a finger at him, a mysterious smirk painting her lips.

"Follow me. _Quietly_."

Taichi blinked at her, but obeyed, leaving his drink on the counter and following as she silently led him out of the kitchen and into the living room.

She nodded toward the floor and whispered "Look."

He did.

Takeru lay flat on his back, blonde hair in his face, dead asleep, completely worn out from the day's events.

Beside him lay Yamato, pillowing his head with one arm, the other hand coming to rest on his brother's blankets. He, too, was completely out. His characteristic coolness gentled with sleep; like this, he and Takeru looked nearly like twins.

They were surrounded by gifts and wrapping paper and friends, but it was like they weren't even there. They slept on, undisturbed, in what might have been the best sleep that either has gotten in a long time.

Taichi smiled.

He felt his sister grasp his hand. "They'll be okay, Onii-san," she murmured, with a surety that made him proud of her. "We'll make sure of it."

He squeezed her hand back.

Yes; they'd make sure.


	7. Sinking

I do not own Digimon.

...anddddd we have a pulse! Enjoy this chapter!

* * *

" _Life is good, or life is bad. Is there anything in the middle? Can life be 'sort of good' or 'sort of bad'? How do you know when it's getting better or worse?_

 _Or is life just life? And there's nothing we can do?"_

* * *

 _She'd seen him walk away before._

 _He'd walked away after bringing her home from one of their dates, when they were young and foolish and in love. He'd walked away to greet the guests at their wedding, terrified of meeting her French relatives. He'd walked away to grab two-year-old Yamato before he ran off into the street. He'd walked away after they fought over the bills. Over work. Over the boys. He'd walked away after he'd told her he'd had enough._

 _And now, he was walking away, for the last time._

 _And he was taking Yamato with him._

 _Natsuko had seen this before; in reality, and in her nightmares. She remembered watching Hiroaki leave, and she remembered the way that little seven-year-old Yamato looked back at her, brokenly, as though he hoped she would dash forward and stop them from leaving. Stop everything from going so wrong._

 _But she couldn't. It killed her, it strangled the hope out of her, but this was her reality now. There was no longer a man who promised to love her forever. There was no longer a family of four, with two happy parents and two beautiful boys. There was no longer a dream._

 _There was nothing left._

 _Except…no._

 _There_ was _something._

 _Even in her numbness, even in her disbelief, she felt the tiniest fingers gripping her hand. She felt something keeping her tied to the world, tied to life, even though she didn't want to be._

 _Takeru._

 _He was three-and-a-half, and sobbing, and screaming for Daddy. For Nii-chan._

 _But he was_ there. _He was_ real. _He was_ hers.

 _He hadn't collapsed and withered and died, like the rest of her dreams. He was there. He was a purpose._

 _He was hope._

 _She squeezed his little hand, turning her swimming eyes to look down at him, to gaze upon the golden baby that would be her salvation—_

 _Natsuko's eternity froze._

 _Takeru was gone._

 _She stared in disbelief at her hand, which only a moment ago felt chubby fingers clinging to her. It began to shake with the force of her heartbreak._

" _Takeru…" she whispered, or would have, if she had been able to breathe. Her head whipped around, facing one direction, then the other, vertigo tickling her brain cells._

 _But she didn't care._

 _She spun, looking every which way, searching for golden hair and blue eyes and finding nothing but grey fog and loneliness._

" _Takeru!"_

 _She stumbled ahead, not knowing if she was running or walking or breathing or going mad. When had she tripped? She braced her hands against the cold ground, the spiraling world overwhelming her._

" _Where are you, baby? Where are you?!" she shrieked, the words cutting her throat._

 _It was all in vain._

 _Takeru was gone._

 _The world ended._

* * *

"…Mom? Mom, c'mon. Seriously." An irritated sigh. "Mom, _wake up."_

Natsuko Takaishi grimaced and gasped, jilted very suddenly from a deep sleep.

She pried her eyes open the slightest bit, half expecting to see that horrific, cold fog and wanting to sob at the idea of it. When she instead saw her bedroom window shades and the pile of laundry that was by now embarrassingly high, she deflated with immeasurable relief.

It had been a dream. Takeru had not disappeared. He was safe in the apartment somewhere. Safe.

She released a sigh and rubbed a hand down her sweaty face.

"…um…Mom? You…okay?"

Natsuko turned her head, wincing as her neck cracked, and strained to see in the dimly lit room.

Yamato stood by the bed, gazing at her with an expression that said "I'm determined, but I feel awkward about it." He looked flustered, hands in his pockets, glaring down at the carpet.

Natsuko frowned. Was she still dreaming? Yamato hadn't woken her up since he was seven. Had she gone back in time, somehow?

"Yamato?" she questioned, raspy-voiced. She rubbed one tired blue eye. "What's the matter? Is everything…?" Her heart suddenly thudded in her chest. "Is Takeru-!"

"You seriously don't feel how cold it is in here?" Yamato responded disbelievingly, pulling his hands out of his pockets to rub them together for warmth. She noticed that he was still wearing his winter coat.

She blinked, brain too muddled from having just been dead asleep to comprehend. "…what, son? Cold?"

"Yeah, you can't tell? There's no heat. The power's out. It's out in the whole building. We had to take the stairs up here because the elevators aren't running."

"What?" she sat up, and regretted it instantly when the blankets fell from her shoulders and she was hit with a wave of frigid air.

She trembled against her will and flailed a hand out for her plush robe.

"What do you mean, the power's out? The power's out in the _city?"_

Yamato shook his head. "Power's fine at Dad's place. The streets are okay, too. It looks like it's just your building."

Natsuko cursed under her breath. Great. Just her luck.

She pushed aside the blankets and wrapped her frigid self in her robe, searching for her slippers and seeing them nowhere. This was just excellent. She'd have to get ready for work in the dark and she couldn't make coffee or even toast and—

" _Mom._ "

Natsuko huffed, interrupted from her inner grumblings by her oldest son. A thought suddenly struck her.

"Wait…Yamato, what are you even doing here so early? You have school, don't you?" She thought it was Friday, or…maybe it was Saturday? Or was he on break? Or…? Did she really not have it together this badly?

His face took on a steely expression. "Patamon called me. He said he knew something was wrong when…when Takeru started shivering and he wouldn't stop." His jaw clenched. "So we came over to see what was up."

Her head shot up at that.

"Takeru? What's wrong with Takeru?" She tied her robe's sash and swept past him, headed for the living room. "And why didn't Patamon just wake me up? I was right there. He didn't need to call you."

She hadn't meant for so much annoyance to seep into her voice when she said it, but it _did_ annoy her. How Takeru's digimon seemed to always defer to _Yamato_ with matters of his well-being instead of her. How Patamon always asked her "Do you think we should call Yamato?" _She_ was his mother, for crying out loud.

She shook her head. She knew it couldn't be helped; it was all because of the Digital World, and there was nothing for it.

Still. It hurt sometimes.

Yamato offered no answer as they entered the living room.

Taichi is there, and Gabumon. They are both kneeling on the floor in a huddle. It takes her a moment to realize that they are huddled around _Takeru._

Her youngest son was trembling from the cold, despite the multitudinous blankets that were failing at the task of keeping him warm. Taichi, in his winter coat just as Yamato was, had his arms wrapped around him from behind, trying to warm him. Gabumon did the same from the front. Patamon was nuzzling his chilly, white face.

It didn't matter. Despite being enveloped in blankets and people and digital monsters, Takeru was simply too thin and sickly to tolerate a heatless apartment. His shivering perpetuated.

"Uh, good morning, Takaishi-san!" Taichi offered uncertainly, unable to wave because of his occupied arms. "Yamato and I were cramming for a test all night, so…we were already together, so I came over too. I, uh…I hope that's cool?"

"D-d-don't s-s-s-say 'c-c-cool,'" Takeru stammered out. His eyes were screwed shut. "It d-doesn't help."

"Takeru, honey?" Natsuko knelt down beside him, alarmed at how violently he trembled. She felt his face; it was like ice. " _Mon amour,_ are you alright?"

He peeled his eyes open and managed a shaky smile for her sake. "I'm o-okay, M-m-mama. Just…c-c-cold."

"I should say so." She rested her fingers on the back of his white hand. "You're freezing, little one."

She stood and made her way to the space heater that sat in the corner. Sure enough, it was silent and frozen to the touch. A glance toward the kitchen showed her that the digital clocks had all gone black. She had no idea what time it was; she could be late for work right now, and have no clue.

And her sick boy was chilled to the bone.

She cursed again.

She turned back around just in time to see Yamato kneel down and pull his brother into his arms, rubbing his hands up and down Takeru's arms, trying to create some sort of heat. Taichi backed off, but the two digimon didn't stop their own administrations.

Yamato leveled her with a fierce look.

"He can't stay here. It's too cold; he'll get sick."

Takeru shook his head. "N-n-nii-san. It's—"

" _Don't_ tell me it's okay. It's _not_ okay. You're frozen solid." His voice softened. "It's not good for you."

"Your brother's right, darling," Natsuko interjected, hugging herself for warmth. She _really_ wished she had found her slippers earlier. "You need to be somewhere warm. And since we have no idea how long we'll be without power…" she stepped over to the window, looking out at the happy, _warm_ people who _had_ power and _didn't_ have sick children. "You'll just have to go to your father's for the day."

It was about time that Hiroaki started doing _something_ to help her out…

Yamato nodded. "Looks like you're headed to Dad's, buddy. I'll help you pack." Gabumon and Patamon headed to Takeru's bedroom to start.

Natsuko sat on the couch for a moment, thinking. Okay, Takeru was going to Hiroaki's place, which meant that she'd have to drive him over…what time was it? How much time did she have to get ready for work? She hadn't even showered! Would she have time to stop somewhere for coffee? The coffee at the office was terrible. And what if Takeru comes down with something? He's already sick enough, without catching a cold. If he _did_ catch a cold, would he…be okay? Or what if—

"…hey. I have a crazy idea."

She looked up, pulled from her inner monologue by the sound of Taichi's voice. She'd forgotten he was even there.

Yamato gave him a look. "Why doesn't that surprise me."

Her son's best friend shot him a look right back. "Hey, just listen, alright?" He then turned to look at her, and then at Takeru. "Teek, how do you feel about…staying over at my place for the day? Agumon and Tailmon are there, I'm sure Gabumon and Patamon would love to visit them. And my mom will be there the whole day, to be your personal nurse!" He lowered his voice and peeked down the hall. "The digimon are great and all, but it'd probably be good for a real human to be around, for a change. And then we'll get out of school, and we'll be back in time for my mom to go to her cooking club."

Yamato frowned at him. "Your mom is in a cooking club? But…her food is…"

Taichi shrugged. "I know. We don't get it either."

Natsuko cradled her head in her hand, processing too many things at once. "Um, Taichi…that's a lovely offer, but…" She felt very uneasy about simply saying to Yuuko-san 'Here, take my kid. Thanks.' It made her feel…even more irresponsible than she already felt.

"It's no trouble, I promise!" Taichi waved a hand. "My mom really misses Takeru! Because, you know, he used to come over a lot. She's always saying that…" His countenance darkened. "…that it's a shame that such a nice kid could…get so sick."

Takeru stared at him, seeming to ponder his words in his mind. Yamato simply tightened his hold on his brother and said nothing.

Natsuko felt a vine of fear constrict her heart, the way it always did when she thought about her son's illness.

Her son's mysterious, undiagnosable, untreatable illness.

She willed her eyes not to well up.

The room was silent. Until:

"…I would love to see Agumon and Tailmon again," Takeru murmured, finally warm enough to stop shivering. He smiled. "And Hikari. I'd even consider trying Yagami-san's choco-strawberry ramen."

Yamato smirked, and Taichi scratched the back of his head. "Now now, let's not get _too_ crazy."

Takeru squeezed his brother's arm, smile genuine in his thin face, and then he turned his blue eyes on her. "Can I, Mom? Please?"

He said it with such exhausted hope that Natsuko wondered if she'd ever be able to say no to him again.

* * *

"… _hope is like a hand, stretching and reaching out into the darkness, searching, searching, searching—"_

"Takeru-kun, honey! Do you need any more water?"

Takeru blinked, looking up from his notebook and toward the sound of Yagami-san's voice. "Oh, um…" A glance toward the coffee table told him that his glass was, indeed, empty, but he didn't want to trouble her. "No, Yagami-san, I'm fine, thank you!"

"Actually, yes, he _does_ need some more water, Taichi and Hikari's mom!" Patamon butted in, giving him an unimpressed look before taking flight toward the kitchen to retrieve the beverage.

Takeru pouted. "Traitor."

He was currently taking up residence on the Yagamis' couch, in their blessedly _warm_ apartment. The car ride over had worn him out and caused him to sleep for a few hours (it was honestly sad how little energy he had these days), but he had woken an hour ago, glad to be able to feel his toes again.

The night before had been…a challenge. The apartment lost power around 4:00 am, and though the lights had been out at the time, he knew immediately that something was wrong when the space heater – the object that provided him warmth, since his own body wasn't able to – went dead.

He'd tried to tough it out, but it wasn't long before the warmth of his sickbed dissolved and left him helplessly cold. It didn't help that it was January, and that Japanese apartments are notoriously known for being ridiculously cold in the winter.

Gabumon had wrapped him in his furry arms, but he was no longer able to fit entirely in his arms the way he had when he was seven. It only helped so much. Patamon finally called Yamato at around 7:00. Thank goodness that Taichi had been with him and had offered his apartment to him; going to his Dad's would have been fun, but he was very glad to be back in the Yagami apartment. It made him feel like nothing had changed.

Except as soon as he finished that thought, he got that strange feeling in his chest that he'd been getting a lot lately that made it feel like he couldn't get a lot of air in his lungs, and he took a few breaths for good measure.

Okay…maybe some things had changed.

Takeru laid down his notebook on the coffee table and rested back against the pillows. His head felt kind of strange, like it wasn't steady on his neck. He looked around him.

Tailmon was lounging on the back of the couch, head resting on her gloved paws, tail swishing and wooshing occasionally back and forth. Her eyes were closed, but she still seemed oddly alert.

Agumon and Gabumon sat side by side on the living room floor, both of them watching him diligently (always, _always_ was he being watched). Except they both looked at him in a different way. Agumon was looking at him as though he was trying to make some kind of sense of him, while Gabumon gave him an unreadable look that he had seen a thousand times on his Onii-san's face.

"Okay, here we go—"

Yagami-san entered the room, kneeling down to replace the empty glass by his side with a fresh one. She wiped her hands on her apron and grinned down at him, seeming sure and calm. In that moment, she looked so much like Taichi.

Patamon, meanwhile, came to rest on the back of the couch beside Tailmon.

"Thanks for your help, Pata-chan!" Yagami-san said, giving his partner the thumbs up. "And you, Takeru-kun! You're looking a little less pale than you did when you arrived. That's great!" Her smile was encouraging; now she looked just like Hikari. "Maybe if you're feeling better later, you can try some of my Asparagus Surprise! Well, the asparagus isn't _actually_ the surprise, but—oh dear, is something burning? You keep resting, Takeru-kun!" And she raced off to save her burning muffins.

Takeru watched her go and couldn't help but laugh. "She's amazing," he said after she had left.

Patamon nodded. "She's really nice! She calls me 'Pata-chan!'"

In his quiet way, Gabumon stood and picked up the glass, handing it to Takeru. "You must drink some, Takeru."

Takeru grinned cheekily at his brother's digimon. "Even here, you're the water police, 'Gabu-chan.'"

Gabumon blushed and sat back down, when Agumon suddenly spoke up. "Takeru?"

"Hm?"

Agumon tapped his chin with a claw thoughtfully. "Can I ask you a question?"

"You just did." Tailmon stretched, emerging from her catnap.

"Oh. Well, can I ask you _another_ question?"

Takeru laughed and then stopped himself when his chest ached. "Of course."

The orange dinosaur tilted his head at him inquiringly before asking "What's it like being sick?"

He felt like something had hit him.

The smile slipped from his face. His hands gripped the glass like it was a security blanket.

Patamon climbed into his lap. "Takeru?"

Tailmon sighed and shook her head. "Really, Agumon? You have no tact at all!"

Agumon looked baffled at the sudden tenseness of the conversation, but he spoke genuinely. "It's not like that! It's just…I've never been sick before. I've had stomach aches, sure. But I've never been sick, so I don't know how it feels." He looked at Gabumon. "Is it like the feeling you get when you digivolve wrong?"

A colossal skeletal dinosaur flashed across Takeru's memory.

Gabumon shook his head. "I was sick, once, in the snowy forest. I just felt like sneezing a lot." He turned his gaze on Takeru. "But Takeru's illness is different."

Takeru stared down at the still water in his glass, at a loss as for what to say. How did it feel to be sick? As in…how did it feel to be chronically ill? How was he supposed to answer that? How did it feel _physically?_ Or…emotionally? Or…?

Truthfully…he tried his hardest not to feel anything. He tried not to think about it too hard. He usually just focused on writing his story, and on making sure his mom and his brother didn't worry too much.

But with Agumon's question…thoughts pervaded his mind against his will.

"Being sick must feel like…" Tailmon started, gaze turned away in thought. "…like being lost. Like…like not knowing where you are. Where your friends are." A haunted look passed her face, and she turned back to the group. "Is that what it feels like, Takeru?"

Takeru stared at her, trying to think of some way to articulate his thoughts. Some way to explain what he felt…

"Wow. This is an awfully deep conversation. Do you guys always talk about things like this while we're at school?"

All five of them turned at Hikari's voice, Tailmon leaping off the couch to greet her.

Hikari caught the cat digimon in her arms and smiled. "You don't know how good it is to see you here again, Takeru."

Takeru smiled back, sincerely glad both to see her and to get out of the conversation. "I hope you won't miss your couch." He sprawled himself out. "It's mine now."

She smirked. "You know what, that's fine. If it means I can see you more often." She placed Tailmon back on the floor with a mischievous look in her eye. "You know, guys…I think there may be some snacks in my bag by the shoe rack…"

At that, Agumon and Patamon raced off, followed by a more controlled Gabumon and a Tailmon who was clearly aware of the fact that Hikari was just trying to get them to leave so she could talk to Takeru alone.

"How was school?" Takeru asked her as she took a seat by his feet at the other end of the couch. "And where are Taichi and Onii-san?"

She leaned back and made herself comfortable. "They're getting us a bite to eat." She looked him in the eye. "You're gonna _try_ to eat some, right?"

His smile became a caricature. "Maybe." It meant probably not.

She knew what it meant too, and she sighed and looked away. She fiddled with the hem of her skirt before speaking.

"…listen. I heard what you and the digimon were talking about…"

Takeru felt his stomach drop.

"…and I want to know, too." She looked at him with an expression that held too many emotions to pick a dominant one. "What _does_ it feel like to be sick?"

Takeru scoffed at that, feeling a chill and wrapping himself deeper in the blankets. "That's a funny question, coming from you." He looked at her and remembered the feverish girl he had taken care of in the Digital World. "You've been sick plenty of times. You probably know even better than I do."

But she shakes her head. "No. I know how _I_ felt." Her voice was steely before it became very soft. "I want to know how _you_ feel."

There it was again.

 _What does it feel like?_

 _How do you feel?_

He wanted to say that he felt fine, or that he didn't feel anything, or that he didn't know how he felt, because in reality, he _did_ feel something. But it was something he didn't want to think about. Something he didn't want to share.

Something bad.

Something terrifying.

Takeru turned to look out toward the window. The shades were drawn, revealing the city skyline, the pale blue winter sky, and the sun, hot and bright, descending on its downward path.

…just like him.

Yes…that's it. _That_ was how he felt.

He saw Hikari shift in his peripheral vision. "Takeru?"

He couldn't tear his gaze from the sky. So he invited her in.

"Look outside, Hikari. Do you see the sun?"

She turned, and saw. "I see it. But…what about it?"

The brightness began to burn his eyes, but he was transfixed. Like the first time something sees its reflection.

"Do you see how it's sinking in the sky?"

She didn't nod or speak, but he knew that she saw.

"That's how I feel…like I'm sinking."

The sun slipped behind a cloud and was gone.

Hikari grabbed his hand.

* * *

It was a little after 10 pm before Natsuko finally found herself in front of the Yagami's door.

She'd tried to get out early – she really had this time – but Shinsuke-san had called in sick, so she had to cover his article, and then the internet bugged out because of course it did, and _then_ she had to go back to the apartment to see if the power was back on, which it was, except it would still take a little while for the heat to fully come back, and…well. Here she was.

She needed a coffee.

Natsuko sighed wearily, running a hand through her hair, making it even frizzier than she was sure it already was. Her eyes felt dry like paper, and she wished she could take out her contact lenses. Her feet ached from walking in high heels. Why did she even wear high heels?

She knocked on the door softly, mindful of the late hour, and cursed her tardiness again.

Hikari answered, dressed in pajamas, but obviously not having turned in for the night yet. She greeted Natsuko quietly, and gestured for her to come inside.

"Welcome back," she murmured. "Takeru is sleeping right now, I think."

Natsuko nodded and removed her shoes. Takeru was sleeping? As in, he wasn't feeling well? Or was he just taking a nap? Or had he fainted again?

 _Calm down,_ she told herself, trying to stop the mayhem in her head. _He's sleeping. He's just sleeping._

The living room was dark, except for the light from the television, which was bright enough to make her wince.

Yamato and Taichi were lounging on the floor in front of the couch, controllers in hand, playing some video game with the volume on low. Taichi seemed to be putting his whole body into it, twisting and veering this way and that to mimic the movements of his character.

Yamato, on the other hand, was remarkably still, probably because Takeru's head was only inches from where he leaned against the couch, and he didn't want to wake his brother.

Both boys were silent, but it was obvious by the scowls they both wore that they _really_ wanted to be trash-talking one another right now.

" _Bonjour,_ boys," she greeted them. She saw Yuuko-san standing in the kitchen doorway and waved.

"Oh, hi, Takaishi-san. Bonjour!" Taichi replied in a poorly-accented attempt at French, but she appreciated the effort.

They paused the game, and Taichi said something about grabbing something from his room, but he probably just left to give them some privacy. Hikari followed him.

Natsuko knelt down by the couch, stroking blond hair out of Takeru's sleeping face, and turned to her other son. "How is he?"

Yamato sighed, putting down the game controller and facing her. He frowned. "He was a little warm earlier." He lifted a hand and felt his brother's face. "And he didn't feel well enough to eat."

She frowned to match his. "But he didn't eat earlier, either."

"Yeah. I know."

Natsuko shook her head, continuing to stroke her son's hair. She felt a headache brewing.

More bad news, on top of everything else.

Out of the blue, a lump came to her throat, and if she were not so good at hiding her feelings, her eyes may have filled with tears.

They didn't; she remained calm, asked Yamato to help get Takeru ready to leave, and headed to the kitchen to talk to Yuuko-san.

But it didn't stop the feeling of raw _helplessness_ from doing strange things to her heart. Strange, _painful_ things.

Yuuko-san was in a bathrobe, cradling a mug of tea. She was smiling, as always, but she obviously wanted to call it a night. It made Natsuko feel like a great inconvenience.

"You…you don't know how much of a help you've been today, Yuuko-san," she said, bowing her head. "Really. I…I'm so sorry for troubling you."

What had Taichi said that morning? ' _It'd probably be good for a real human to be around, for a change_.' He hadn't meant anything by it, but all the same, it sounded like an attack. Like an accusation that she should be around more.

She _wanted_ to be around more, damn it. But there were deadlines, and bills, and—

"Ah, Natsuko-san!" Yuuko-san grinned and put down her mug. "It was no trouble at all. The opposite, really. Takeru and I had a great day with the digimon!" She looked wistfully off toward the living room. "Takeru is a wonderful boy. It…it makes me sad, to see him sick." She gave Natsuko a solemn look. "I'll help any way I can."

Again, a lump came to Natsuko's throat. Again, she gathered every shred of self-control so she could to keep herself together.

"Thank you. That's—" she cleared her throat. "That's kind."

She felt hot. Was it hot in here?

Yuuko-san seemed to be watching her, pondering something.

Natsuko looked back uncomfortably for a moment before glancing down at her watch. "Well, it's late. It's about time that we—"

"Natsuko-san."

She looked back up, an eyebrow raised at being addressed. "Yes?"

Yuuko-san hummed lowly for a moment before taking a step closer to her. Her voice was low, low enough only for the two of them to hear, when she asked:

"Natsuko-san…are you doing alright?"

Was it her eyes? The look of sympathy she gave her? The question nobody seemed to ever ask her?

She didn't know what it was, but it was enough.

Natsuko nodded out of instinct, prepared to say that yes, she was doing fine. What did normal, happy people say? Oh, she was just tired from work. A long day at the office. She needed a vacation. She was prepared to say all of these things.

She was not prepared for her chin to start wobbling or for her face to scrunch up or for her eyes to fill with tears and obscure the room in a blurry, desperate mess.

But it happened anyway.

She slapped a hand over her mouth, wrapping an arm around herself and trying, _frantically,_ to stop crying.

She couldn't cry. She had to be strong. She had to be strong. She had to be—

Yuuko-san was suddenly there, wrapping her robed arms around her, holding her in respectful, empathetic silence.

Something in her broke.

Natsuko buried her face into the thick robe, clung to Yuuko-san, and finally allowed tears of exhausted, angry, lonely helplessness to fall.

"Yuuko-san…" she stammered out, hoping beyond hope that the kids couldn't hear her. What would happen if they saw her? For some reason, it only made her cry harder.

Yuuko-san held her tighter.

"Yuuko-san, I…" she expelled a sharp breath, "I don't know w-what to do. The bills, and…I have to work all day, and…he's sick. I can't even be here to take care of him, and he's _so_ _sick._ "

Her heart was being wrung like a towel, ripped and torn into and pulled apart as if by ravenous crows.

She remembered the dream from last night – running, running through the cold fog, searching, _searching_ – and realized that it was coming true.

Her nightmare was coming true.

" _Why_ is he so sick?" she questioned Yuuko-san. And the universe. And anyone who would bother listening. " _Why_ can't anyone tell me what's wrong with him? _Why_ can't anyone tell me how to make him better?"

She sensed, more than heard, Yuuko-san's tears.

It didn't matter. She was too far gone.

"…why can't anyone tell me why my baby is sick? Why can't anyone tell me if he's going to be okay?"

Why couldn't anyone tell her that her marriage would fail?

Why couldn't anyone tell her that her family would fall apart?

Why couldn't anyone tell her that her dreams would die?

Why did this have to happen?

…why Takeru?

Yuuko-san shook her head.

Even she had no answers.

Natsuko felt the world go back to dark, cold, hopeless fog.

She wondered what dreams were even for.


End file.
